Glimmer
by wolfpackgirl92
Summary: Elizabeth Melthrop is a ghost from the 1970's, and Paul a spirit warrior with a duty to his people. Paul isn't supposed to be able to see Elizabeth. In fact, he's the first person that's not a kid to see her at all. She's not sure what to make of that, and he's not sure what to make of her, but Elizabeth knows something. She needs him if she's ever going to be free.
1. Ch 1: Where Paul is Miserable

Okay I'm back with another story! This time I've completely finished it and all I have to do is edit each chapter again for mistakes before posting so no more large gaps! I won't be taking this one down either. It will stay up for you guys. I'm not sure how much I will update yet, it will probably just depend how much stuff is due each week for my classes and the amount of reviews I get. Thanks for reading! :)

Also, it almost ignores Bella Swan's story and sticks to the packs side. So if you don't like that than this story isn't for you. I have no beta either, so you will probably run into grammar mistakes and such.

This story is rated T for language~

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><p>Paul's POV<p>

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><p>You know, life was a lot more interesting before I turned into a spirit warrior.<p>

Sure, at first the novelty of it was great. I could do something very little to no people in the world could do. I can run faster, see farther, pick up scents quicker, and smell the slightest change in someone's emotions. That last one I'm still working out by the way, it gets kind of complicated.

But soon enough, everything became repetitive. Eat. Run. Sleep. Eat. Run. Sleep. It's all I ever do now. Sometimes a vampire running across our border spices it up, but for the most part everything is so…

Dull.

Life before was a lot more exciting. I did whatever I wanted. I could pick up random jobs, my favorite being the corner store because old Mrs. Hokwat is the sweetest lady I've ever met. I could also get smashed at parties and sleep with whoever I want. I could drag race and cliff dive and go to a movie whenever I wanted and eat shit and ACTUALLY FEEL FULL.

Man I miss that feeling.

I will admit I was a bit out of my mind when I first shifted. I mean, who wouldn't be? Turning into a giant wolf is in no way logical. Not even with our legends did I guess that. When I'm confused or nervous or even scared I tend to get angry. The result is most of my pack brothers' tip toeing around me, except when itching for a fight. I oblige, of course. At least I get a tiny rush then. Nothing like before, but at least it's _something_.

All the things I used to love I can no longer do, either because I've been banned by Sam, my alpha, or I just don't get that rush anymore.

I lived for the rush. The un-predictableness of it.

Once the elation from the heightened senses wore of, and my added strength began to get boring, I became moody. There's nothing exciting now. My eat, run, sleep routine just is not cutting it.

But there's nothing I can do about it. Sam says it's our duty to watch over our people, and I understand that, but we never had a vampire problem before. No one died suspiciously, no one disappeared. Everyone died from normal, human things.

Fucking Cullen's, they ruin everything.

I can put all my hatred into them. I don't understand why Sam won't just tell them to leave. Okay, I understand. But I really wish he would tell them that. Then everything could go back to the way it was.

Or maybe not. I'm still stuck with all this wolfy shit.

I'm glad my mom isn't bitching at me like Embry's and Jared's are. I can tell she's worried about me, but as long as I don't look doped out of my mind I think she'll leave me alone. She has work to distract her anyways. She threw herself into it once my pops died. I remember those first few months, how hard they were. My grandma was still alive then and she moved in with us to take care of me since my mother practically lived at the law firm in an attempt to forget any little reminder that my dad once frequent this earth.

That included forgetting me. Especially me.

I remember my grandmother would tuck me in at night and whisper into my tears that mom does love me, but is grieving in her own way. I was miserable at first, but as the years ticked by that sadness turned into anger; and the anger into fury.

She didn't try to reconcile with me until I was seventeen and grandma died. I wouldn't even look at her at first, but now we can hold a polite conversation. She still tries not to look into my face, staring directly behind me or at my neckline and shoulder-blade. I barely see her, but at least I have some type of family. She's all I have left now, and it took me a while to realize that.

A bang on the door, followed by Quil hollering disturbs me enough to pull on some shorts and groggily walk to the door. "What?" I practically hiss at him. Today is suppose to be my day off and they better not tell me I have to run today. Quil's gaze focuses on something in the background, before dragging his eyes reluctantly to mine with frowning brows.

"Sam says you have to cover Jared's shift." He backs up after his claim, putting a wide berth between me and him. His nervousness is not that surprising with the way I blow up at things.

"What!" I explode, gripping the door frame hard enough to hear a crack. I wince, glancing at the frame to check for damage and pulling my furious gaze back to him when seeing no evidence of a break. "That's bull shit! This is my day off!"

"Yeah, well bring that up with Sam," he shrugs, backing up even more.

All the imprinted wolves run a lot less patrols than the single one's do. If I ever wanted to imprint it would be only for the reason that I could actually sit on my ass. Sex would also be a plus, seeing how Sam banned me from it which is bull shit. Something about me being too strong and forgetting my strength in the "passion of it," as he puts it.

"I fucking hate my life," I mumble, rubbing at my eye. I've already had this argument with Sam a million times, and every time it ends up with me tugging my pants off just before bursting into a wolf and still having to run laps.

Sometimes I really hate that man.

"When is his shift?"

"Now." He sounds relieved, almost as if he didn't expect it to be this easy. I sigh, running a hand though my hair before slamming the front door closed and walking into the woods.

I better catch me some damn vamp for this fuckery.

When I get off my shift all I can get myself to do is shove a bowl of cereal down my throat to stop the grumbling and pitch forward onto my bed, falling asleep within seconds. The next day is marginally better. I don't have to patrol until two in the morning, so when I woke up at twelve there was still another fourteen hours I could waste before selling my soul to Sam once again.

"Darlin', I swear you got yourself a bottomless stomach," Cassie teases, sending a wink my way before walking off with my scraped clean dishes. Cassie moved here from Texas about two years ago when she was seventeen, so we're the same age. I remember in school people would tease her about her accent, but she would just ignore them with a roll of her eyes. She comes back with another plate of food, this time it's eggs and pork chops with onions and peppers sautéed on top.

"Thanks Cassie," I grin, before digging into my food. She takes a seat next to me before plopping her feet on the booth with a sigh.

"I can't wait till I graduate from college, then I don't have to work at this god forsaken diner," she grumbles with closed eyes.

"Then you wouldn't be able to see me," I grin, showing sharp canines turning it into a wolfish leer. She pauses at my facial expression, but then her lip juts out slightly in a pout and she crosses her arms across her chest.

"I can only see you when I work anyways." Her voice is soft, as if I wasn't meant to hear it. I breathe out deeply, running a hand through my hair ruggedly.

Sam told us to drop all our old friends because we're better off that way. We could hurt them. And besides, the secret must remain that: a secret. I became sort-of friends with Cassie shortly after becoming a shifter, and we get along great. I understand why Sam told us to do end our friendships, and if the look on his face after he turns to Emily isn't enough to convince us the importance of his command then I don't know what would be. I just wish I didn't have to hide from my old friends, and keep myself at a distance with everyone else in my life that is not a wolf. My whole life is about being a wolf, and I hate it. I have no break from it, and it's getting to me. Being somewhat friends with Cassie is my little rebellion of Sam's orders. He's not gonna alpha command me away from my waitress after all.

"I just can't," I trail off, unsure what to say.

"Yeah, yeah. I get it, your gang." She gets up to take care of another customer calling for coffee before I can even attempt to deny that I am in such a thing. She walks over to him with a smile, sparking up a conversation.

I sigh, hunching down into my booth as much as a six-foot three man with heavily clad muscles can. A figure gets my attention from outside, standing in front of the window. She has long, golden blonde hair pulled up in a high ponytail with a swirl going into the band. She wears a white dress with tiny blue flowers added to the design. It's loose, with a tie around the middle to accentuate her waist. All in all, she looks like someone from the 60's or 70's. But that isn't what catches my attention the most.

It's that she shimmers.

Not like a vampire, but something else entirely. No one else seem distracted by this. They don't even give her so much as a glance. My brows furrow down in confusion, my food long forgotten. She peers around with childish delight, blowing a kiss to seemingly no one.

"Do you need any more coffee?"

Cassie's voice interrupts me, and I jump. I haven't gotten startled like that since becoming a wolf. I turn to her with surprise etched all over my face, before turning back to the window.

But she's gone.

I blink, getting up out my chair and racing to the door. She's nowhere in sight, adding more to my confusion. The only place she could have gone is into the forest, and no one goes in there since the "bear" sightings.

"Paul, you okay?" Cassie appears worried, gnawing on her bottom lip while tugging on her slightly mused, red apron. I clear my throat, closing the door and going back inside.

"I, yeah. I'm fine," I brush off, grabbing my receipt from the table.

Maybe I imagined it. It wouldn't be the first time someone called me crazy.

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><p>Btw this story will go back and forth from Paul to Lizzy's view.<p> 


	2. Ch 2: Where Lizzy is Alone

I'm still looking for some sort of banner. I hope to find one soon. I'm posting another chapter because I like to when I begin a new story. It gives readers a little more to go on. :)

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><p>Lizzy's POV<p>

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><p>Being a ghost isn't as bad as one would think.<p>

Sure, I can't touch people and I can't feel someone's warmth as they brush against me. But when I died, a whole world opened up to me. It's like Earth turned into some alien land and my eyes opened up to everything around me.

Little red creatures, about three inches tall with scrawny arms are abundant. They like to cause all sorts of mischief on humans. They do things like slightly moving a mug, turning it to face the opposite direction the handle was facing before. It causes people confusion, but no real harm. There are pink wing-like animals that float through the wind, hairless and smooth to the touch. It seems like all they ever do is float. I've never seen them do anything else. There are even tiny little brown creatures, something I've grown to call goblins. They dig in gardens and like to mess with the animals. Animals seem to have no problem seeing the goblins, but humans do not seem to see them at all. They can't see any of us.

Sometimes children can see us, and they like to giggle at the vivid colors and stark contrast we make from the rest of the world. I know sometimes they don't see us the way we truly are. Once I asked a child what I look like to her, and she told me I look like her grandmother that had recently passed away. Another said I look like a bulbous creature, and emphasized the way I jiggled as I walked. I didn't like that very much.

I died in a relatively normal way, a car accident. My older sister was driving and didn't make it either. But unlike when I died, she didn't stick around. What I did see was her dead in the driver's seat, her neck snapped on impact. My body had flown through the front windshield and slammed into a tree, my back jutting out at odd angles showing me that it had been broken at more than one spot. It's disturbing to see that happen to your body, and even more when you no longer seem to be inside of it.

We were pronounced dead at the scene, much to my parent's and younger brother's horror. I sat in the funeral and watched as my family mourned over our bodies. No matter what I did or how loud I screamed and kicked, they couldn't see me.

Slowly they moved on, my brother graduated from high school and then college. Now he has a family of his own. Three of his four children are adults, and my mother and father have already passed away from old age. I keep tabs on my living family, watching as they grow and face life decisions. It's hard sometimes, because I can't help them. But after thirty-seven years of this I've gotten used to it.

After those first few months of mourning the fact that I cannot truly be with my family, I searched for my sister. After all, we died about the same time; and why wouldn't she be here with me? I never found her, and when my mother and father died of old age they never appeared either.

I decided then that there had to be a reason why I was stuck here and my family not. I must be meant for something. My last day alive, before the car crash, my sister and I were having a girl's day out. We had gotten our nails done, makeup and hair dolled up to perfection. We giggled over my sister's boyfriend, especially since she said she had an inkling that he was thinking of proposing. I gossiped about Davie McConnor, who everyone said was planning on asking me out the next day of school. Just before we got into the car to head home, I stopped in front of an odd looking store. I had never seen it before, and when checking with my sister she claimed she didn't remember it either. There were dark red drapes across the window, and what looked to be a hand carved sign proclaiming them to be open.

"Let's go inside," I beg her, tugging at her shirt sleeve.

"Lizzy, that place looks creepy. I'm not going in there," she proclaims backing up.

"Fine, I'll go without you." And with the tip of my nose in the air, I walked into the wispy store. Inside didn't look any better than the outside. A thin layer of dust covered everything, and a circular wooden table sat exactly in the center of the room.

"Elizabeth, what are you doing?" my sister hisses from the doorway, peaking inside. After glancing at all the crevices of the room, she deems it safe enough to walk in and rushes to grab my arm and attempt to drag me out of the store. But we're the same height, and she has even less muscles than I do.

"Look, the bracelets are so pretty." I shoved her off without a second thought and walk towards the only display. Charm bracelets lay across it. They shine in the dimly lit room like far away stars.

"Lizzy, come on! Don't touch anything! This place doesn't feel right." I ignore her, turning around to run my hands over some of the charms.

"Hello dearies."

The voice freezes both of us, the sound old and mangled. My fist tightens before I take a deep breath and turn around. The woman before us is wrapped in the same red that decorates everything in this store. To my surprise she is young, looking no older than thirty. Both me and my sister whisper our greetings back, my sister refusing to look at her. Instead, she seems to find the floor much more interesting.

"I see you like my charm bracelet display. You may take three free of charge." Despite the warning bells going off in my head, I can't help the excitement coursing through me.

"No thank you," my sister interrupts nervously. "We'll just be going now."

"For real?" I ignore my sister, practically vibrating with giddiness.

"Of course." She gestures to the display with an elegant hand. "Any three that you want." My eyes first drift to a wooden carving of some flower, colored blood-red with beautiful detail. "Ah, that is a red poppy my child," she informs me, closer this time.

"I can have this?" I peer behind me when I ask.

"Any three," she reminds with a benevolent smile. I grin, turning back to the display. I grab one of the silver chains and click the red flower in place before searching for the next link.

"I don't think this is such a good idea," my sister whispers into my ear.

"Oh hush, you're afraid of everything," I grumble. She sighs, but allows me to riffle through the charms.

The next charm that catches my eyes is a silver wolf, the deep grooves that represent the eyes peer into my soul as if begging to be chosen. Impulsively, I grab it and quickly link it next to the flower one before searching for the last. It takes a while, but finally a simple design catches my eye. It's silver, with a diamond shape that has two ovals in the center. One oval is sitting inside the other and a thin piece of metal holds them delicately together.

"It has been a long time since someone has chosen that symbol," she comments. "In fact, you're the second person to have ever picked it." The words sound omniscient, and a secret smile plays across her face. Finally my sister's nerves spread to me and I realize how accurate her assessment is. Something _doesn't_ feel right.

"Okay, well we've picked three symbols. We're going to go now." My sister all but drags me out.

"Are you not going to pick a charm?"

The old, gnarled voice freezes my sister's movements, and her hand tenses around mine making me wince. We turn back around to see her calmly standing with a brow arched in question. My sister swallows before hurrying over to the display and grabbing a random charm, all but running back to me and racing out the door.

"Thank you for gift," I call out. She raised an arm in answer and the door slams closed.

"Lizzy, why did you do that? That was the most horrible ordeal I've been through. Wasn't that creepy at all to you," she whines, hopping in the front seat.

"Yes, but free stuff." I jingle my wrist for emphasis practically beaming. "I've always wanted a charm bracelet. You know that."

"Whatever," she mumbles, clearly upset with me.

"What did you choose?" She's usually annoyed with me for some reason, but we've been fighting less since she started going to community college.

She releases her fist for the first time since grabbing the charm, taking a good look at it. She shrugs, before tossing it into the console between us. When I pick it up, I see that it is an angel wing. I put it back down and stay quiet, catching onto my sister's mood.

"Hey, the stupid charm is getting red all over me," I complain, rubbing at the red that sits on my wrist now.

"What did you expect Elizabeth? It was free."

I roll my eyes, attempting to get the red off. If anything it spreads.

"Would you quit messing with that? It's distracting me," she snarls, glaring at me. I glower back, pulling my eyes away from her to the road. My eyes widen when they do.

"Ana!" I scream in attempt to get her attention back on the road. I turn back just in time to see her turn her head to the road, her eyes growing large as the truck speeds towards us.

That's all I remember. The next thing I knew I woke up, my eyes taking in the dark sky above. I was in a complete panic. I thought I was safe, and my sister was stuck in the car. When I ran over to yank the door, my hand went straight through it.

That was the beginning of my life as a ghost. It was really lonely at first, and if I was honest I would say I'm still lonely now. I remember my grandmother once saying the spirits that die and stay on Earth have unfinished business, but what unfinished business do I have? I hardly think not turning my homework in Monday two days after I died counts. I didn't get into some huge argument with my parents before leaving and I didn't get murdered. I certainly don't have any money buried in the back yard, so what could it be? Sure, my sister was a bit annoyed with me when we died but it wasn't some type of blood feud or something unforgivable! We both knew that we loved each other at the end of the day.

"You're pretty," a little girl giggles, attempting to pull at my skirts. I duck out of the way before she can try.

"Why thank you! But I think you're prettier," I smile, watching as her brown curls bounce with every movement she makes.

"You're so shiny." She attempts to touch me again, but I back up and her hand grasps at air. She becomes distracted with something behind me and I turn to see what it is. When I do, I panic.

"Don't look at that," I demand, my playful tone gone. She blinks swiftly in surprise, turning back to me.

"Why?"

"Not everything is good. Ignore it and it will never bother you." When she goes to watch it again, I try a different tactic. "That thing can hurt you, and no one will be able to protect you." She seems to get the message this time, and steadily stares into my eyes.

"Sweetheart what are you doing? Didn't I tell you to stay away from the road?" A woman with the same eyes as the little girl rushes over, grabbing her up in her arms.

"I was talking with my new friend, she's shiny."

Confusion filters though her gaze and she carefully looks around. "What friend sweetie?"

She giggles, clearly delighted with this turn of events. "She's right in front of you silly."

Her gaze goes right though me, and comprehension fills her face. "You have an invisible friend?"

"No, a shiny friend," she corrects. Her mother sighs, walking away with her.

"Well that does not mean it's okay to go near the road. No going near the road, okay?"

The littler girl nods, watching me with bouncing curls until she disappears in the car and her mother drives away.

Not everything is safe in this new world, at least not for humans. The little girl could see the dark blackness behind me. I've come to call them Fear Mongers, as they like to trade the fear they have gathered with each other as if sharing a glass of expensive and tasteful wine. If a Fear Monger notices a human paying the slightest attention to it, they will haunt them. Fear Monger's use a humans fear against them, feeding off of the emotion. You know all those scary ghost movies that people watch? It's like Fear Monger's are the evil ghosts. They can't hurt me like they could a human, but they can still frighten me which makes me a viable source of food. I found out if I ignore them that they leave me alone, so I've been telling humans that can see them to do the same.

Besides that creature, everything is quite benign in this world. But I can't really talk to anything, except the occasional child, so it's lonely.

Okay so maybe being a ghost isn't that great, but I'm sure there are worse things.

The sun glints off my charm bracelet, and I stare down at it. When I woke up, the red poppy was gone. Now only the silver wolf and odd symbol remains on it. I'm not sure what happened to the flower, it must have come off in the accident I died in. I've tried taking the bracelet off, but no matter what it won't budge. I discovered the same thing with my clothes. I'm stuck wearing what I wore when I died. At least I don't look like I did when it happened. I remember my white dress being stained an almost black color, and my honey blonde hair taking on a reddish tint. This white dress was my favorite. I wore it to church a lot when I was alive.

Hey. At least when I died, I died in style.


	3. Ch 3: Where Paul Sees No Footprints

Okay I looked at the story, and there will be a total of 12 chapters. It's much shorter than my last one, and much simpler. It sticks almost strictly to the two main characters, Lizzy and Paul. Any criticisms would be welcome!

Thanks to Guest for reviewing! 3

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><p>Paul's POV<p>

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><p>I search for that girl every day after that, but I never found her. I even asked around about her, but no one had any clue who I was talking about which is complete bull shit. I mean, you can't get any more inconspicuous than a glowing girl in 70's garb walking down the street.<p>

Two weeks later I finally see her again. She was sitting on a bench, her legs crossed daintily at the knee.

"Hello." It's the first thing that pops into my head. Her face conveys confusion, and she turns to look on the other side of the bench that remains empty and then back to me. When her eyes look into mine, I stare back in shock. They're the green-ist eyes I've ever seen, the color a lighter shade than I'm used to. Usually green eyes look brown at first, but with her there's no doubt of their color.

"Do you see me?" Her head moves slightly forward in question. I arch an eyebrow, staring at her as if she's crazy.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be able to see you?" Her jaw drops and this time when she looks at me, she seems to _really_ look at me. Taking in all my features in a panic as if time were rushed and she'd never see me again, which may be likely based on how hard it is to find her.

"No reason." She turns away to stare out at the ocean, bringing a leg up and leaning her chin on her knee as the other stays slightly dangling from the sandy floor.

"Aren't you cold?" It's a bit windy out today, and most people have fall jackets on. I don't of course, my body stays at a steamy 108 degrees, but I'm an exception.

"Not at all." She doesn't look cold either, she's relaxed if anything.

"Why are you so surprised I can see you?"

Her face tightens, before going back to her calm expression. "Most people can't see me is all."

I stare at her blankly. How can people not see her? Everything about her is startling, from her eyes to the faint way she glows; her chosen clothes to her hair style. Everything is eye catching.

"I find that hard to believe." If I didn't know me better, I'd say I was flirting. But Paul Lahote does not flirt, he goes straight for the kill.

A small smile graces her face and she turns her head slightly towards mine and closes her eyes with a peaceful look.

"Do you live around here?"

Her eyes slightly open at the question, giving me a lazy look that somehow comes of sultry. My lower region twitches in interest and I turn away, attempting to get that last expression out of my head.

"In a way."

I frown, watching as the waves fitfully smash onto the sand. "Do you always speak in riddles?"

"I don't mean to."

I grumble, annoyed with myself that I actually care about her answer. "If you don't want to tell me, then just say that." I sound like a pouty child unable to get his way much to my chagrin.

"It's not like that," she denies. I suddenly get drawn into her accent. She perfectly pronounces every word, not slurring together one syllable. I've never heard a person talk like that before. The barrage of questions starts up again.

"Where are you from?"

"New York."

"New York City?"

"No, just New York."

"Do you still live there?"

Her bottom lip tightens and a melancholy look builds across her face. "No, I haven't lived there in a long time," she finally answers.

"What brings you all the way out here?" I hastily ask, hoping to get that sad look off her face. It works. There's a mischievous curl to her lip when she answers me, her eyes silently laughing.

"Traveling, you could call me a wanderer."

"How old are you?" I can tell she's confused by my question, as if unsure of the answer. Her lips silently mouth something, as if working out a difficult math question.

"I am… sixteen." The words sound foreign to her lips.

"Why do you glimmer?" It's the last question I plan to ask, and the one that I'm the most curious about.

Immediately she shuts down, her face becoming a blank mask with no emotion. "Why do you _not_ glimmer?" she debates. Her answer leaves a bad taste in my mouth, and the surly look I usually have on my face appears.

"Because I'm normal," I spit out in annoyance.

"Perhaps you are not. Maybe everyone glows and you're only noticing now."

"That's bullshit." My language makes her jump, and she indiscreetly puts more space between us.

"Maybe, maybe not." It's all she says before she leaves. When she's out of ear shot I growl in frustration, slumping my shoulders unhappily. I turn to look at the place she was just sitting, and notice a tiny silver wolf where she sat. I blink in surprise, before picking it up.

It looks old, older than me probably. The eyes of the wolf have a knowing look, as if gloating. I grumble to myself, ignoring my vivid imagination. I suddenly remember a flash of light hitting her wrist and realize it's probably part of her bracelet, a charm maybe. I turn to look for her, hoping to catch her before she disappears, but see nothing. My stomach drops when I survey the area she walked across for hints of her whereabouts.

She left no footprints in the sand.


	4. Ch 4: Where Lizzy Becomes Tinkerbell

Reviews make me post chapters faster!

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><p>Lizzy's POV<p>

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><p>Something odd has happened to me for the first time in decades.<p>

My silver wolf charm is gone.

I don't understand. Why would it choose to come off now? When I attempted to take off the symbol before it wouldn't budge, and trying to take off the bracelet yielded me the same result. In an attempt to think somewhat logically, I take in the information I have.

I lost my red poppy when I died.

I lost my silver wolf when meeting that guy.

Maybe the inkling I've had all these years is true, that it really is this bracelet that caused everything. I don't know, maybe paranoia is getting to me. After all, I just talked to an adult for the first time in thirty-seven years. It's quite a hurdle in my un-dead life. Something suddenly rushes to the front of my mind.

My sister's angel charm.

When she died she did not hover like I did. The same with my parents. In fact, I was "holding" my father's hand as he died and I did not even glimpse one part of his spirit.

It's me, and these charms, that keep me stuck on Earth.

On impulse, I tug on the bracelet as if it would finally come off after all these years. I stop once I realize my foolishness. Obviously, I have to do something in order to get it off.

Or maybe I'm just crazy and have too much time on my hands so I'm making these senseless conspiracies up.

Well, I have nothing better to do. So I might as well amuse myself with this. Maybe each one symbolizes something. An angel's wing is obvious. It must either mean freedom, heaven, or whatever happens after death.

I have no clue what the red flower and wolf mean. Perhaps it means that man is evil and trying to get me!

Or maybe I read the Three Little Pigs and Little Red Riding Hood too much as a child. Are wolves really sly? I thought that was coyotes. In nursery rhymes wolves are sly and evil.

I groan, clutching my head and plopping down on the ground to stare at the sky. Streaks of pink and orange decorate it, but I've seen the sunset and sunrise enough that it doesn't distract me. When you don't sleep you suddenly have a lot of time on your hands. I give up when I finally admit I won't know until the last charm falls off if I'm right. I can't look it up in a book, or attempt to use the intranet or whatever it's called. I can't research it, the only person that could is a live human and it's not like I can go up to the next kid that sees me and tell them to look all this stuff up.

Wait, that man from earlier.

Maybe that's why he is important. Maybe the wolf symbolizes his ability to help me. I can talk to him, and if I'm nice enough I might be able to convince him to look all this stuff up for me. With a firm direction in mind, I race back to the bench where we were sitting.

But he's gone.

I sigh, attempting to kick at the sand. My foot goes straight through it of course. It's odd that I can sit down on things, but cannot touch them. But then this reality is quite different from anything I'd ever heard of before.

I remember when I first died I thought maybe if I went back into my body my spirit would finally go to rest. But when I laid upon that casket that held my lifeless corpse, nothing happened. I was still dead, and could still see all the weird creatures floating around.

Maybe all of this is a coincidence. After all, maybe the flower fell of before I actually died. Maybe that guy wasn't the reason the wolf fell off. I don't know for sure if he is the reason since I'm not sure if I had the charm during or after our talk.

He's so pushy.

After my happiness of being able to have a mature conversation ended, I began to feel annoyance. He looked like the type of guy I would have avoided in life. He had this self-assured curve to his lips, almost a smirk, and when he asked me questions it was demanded as if I had no choice but to answer. I didn't like that at all. It's nice to be confident, but he pushes the limits.

I grew up very protected. My parents sheltered me from everything they could, so when I died and began to see all the horrible things in life it was a bit shocking. I'd never heard of rape until I died, and I didn't even really know what sex was. When I turned sixteen, my mother sat me down and told me about sex. She said that people have sex to have children, and then told me how it's done.

It's safe to say I had no interest in sex when our conversation was over.

I had my first kiss at fifteen, and even then it was only a tap on the lips. I never kissed someone the way I've seen people kiss now.

I watched as the world changed, watched as technology hit every house. I watched as each part of my outfit became old and outdated. I observed as our culture changed, as more people got piercings in odd places and ink drilled into their skin to make a statement. It's okay to curse now, it's okay for women not to have to guard their bodies as religiously as my mother's era and mine did. The ideal curvy body left the scene and in its place the skin and bones fashion models reigned supreme. Every time I blink it's like another year has passed and if I don't pay attention I will be left in the dust.

I gave up keeping up with the trends about ten years ago. Now the only thing I pay attention to is the year and children. Not all children can talk to me, but some can. I don't even know the guy's name, the guy that came up to me and told me I glimmered. It suddenly seems very important to know his name. I lay down on the sand, wishing that I could actually feel its grainy roughness against my back. I've forgotten how most things feel after almost forty years of having no touch. I grin, smiling up into the sky and closing my eyes in some semblance of rest.

Perhaps next time when a child asks why I glow, I shall simply say I am Tinkerbell.


	5. Ch 5: Where Paul's Wish Comes True

Here is my disclaimer that I always forget about: Meyer's characters are not mine. I give up on asking you guys to review. I'm just gonna post chapters whenever I feel like a chapter is good enough~

Btw if you guys DO happen to review, it would be nice if you could tell me what you think will happen in the story as each chapter is posted. I want to know how obvious I'm being. I try hard not to be cuz when I'm reading a book and I can tell you what's going to happen for the rest of a story I stop reading it. I don't like everything to be predictable.

Comments:

ThisIsHope- Oh gosh, thanks for telling me that. It would have drove me crazy too if I knew that. It's driving me crazy now so I fixed his name and you won't hear Roaner again! Thank you for the review! :)

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><p>Paul's POV<p>

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><p>Sometimes it's really annoying to have an alpha. No scratch that, it's <em>always<em> annoying to have an alpha.

For some reason Sam has been bitching at me more than usual. I mean, he already bitched at me a lot; but now it's practically non-stop.

"If you would stop fighting me on everything we wouldn't be having this problem," Sam voices in exasperation, running a hand tiredly down his face. He acts like he's the voice of reason, but he's more biased than any of us. Fucking imprints. Fucking Sam.

"If you stopped trying to micromanage my life, maybe I wouldn't be such an ass," I shoot back. Everyone else just let things go and accepts this wolf stuff with open arms. I don't get how they can. Oh, wait.

They view it as an honor. I view it as a burden.

I'm being run to the floor and none of them give a shit. Sam's excuse for not patrolling is Emily. The same goes with Jared and Quil with their respective imprints. Hell, even Jacob has an excuse: Bella Swan. Embry is too happy-go-lucky to bitch about it like I am, but I can tell he's just as tired as me. You know it's bad when the kid is happy to go to school. The only time I get a break is when I work my job, and I only got a job so I could do something besides pack business. I asked Mrs. Hokwat for my job back, and she was more than happy to oblige me.

"Paul! I get it! You're tired, we're all tired. But we have to do this. The only thing protecting our people is us."

"No, you don't get it," I growl out. "You don't get it at all. All of you get to throw fucking daisies in the air and make pink fucking cupcakes with your imprints while me and Embry are _always out patrolling_. We never get a break. Look at Embry!" I shout, pointing over to him. Embry jumps awake from where he's resting once I call out his name. He rubs an eye tiredly while wiping at a thin line of drool stuck to his face.

"What?" His question is barely understandable under the layers of sleep, but this only further proves my point. Sam takes a deep, calming breath in before opening his eyes to stare straight into mine.

"This job is not easy," he starts off, but I interrupt him.

"This isn't a fucking job. We're doing this for free." My snide comment finally makes him loses his temper, the veins in his neck becoming more prominent as his face reddens.

"I'm tired of your complaining Paul! Do you think I didn't hear you the first fifty times! What am I supposed to do? We're all being run thin here. I know it's especially hard on you because most of the pack are in high school and you always have to cover those shifts. I get it, _but we have no choice_." I go to argue but Sam reads it on my face and stops me in my tracks. "_Paul, you are_ not_ to bring this up again._" The alpha laden command vibrates into my bones freezing me in my tracks. It takes me a moment to be able to move again, and when I do I take a deep breath in, infuriated. The familiar burning of anger races across my skin in a feverish haze and Sam tells my pack brothers to get me outside before I go wolf. When I glance down my hands are vibrating so fast I can barely see them. Someone grabs me by the scruff of my neck and drags me outside and I almost tear the door off the hinges in the process.

"Paul man, you've gotta learn to get control of your anger." I turn and see Embry nervously standing by the side watching me with Jacob on my left. I look straight ahead, the red haze beginning to cover my peripherals already. But as suddenly as the rage comes it leaves, disappearing like a puff of air emptying from my lungs.

It's her.

The girl that shimmers. I haven't seen her in a while, and part of this argument actually started because of her. Sam told me I should leave her alone, but I didn't want to. It's my life and I should be able to have _something._ Sam doesn't seem to agree.

"-did you just do?" I hear Embry ask incredulous. I blink once, then twice, before bringing my gaze to him.

"What?" Even to my ears I sound like an slack-jawed idiot. My speech is slow and awkward.

"How did you do that? You've never been able to do that before? Hell, none of us have been able to calm down like that after being so far gone."

"I-I don't know." I bring my gaze back to her, ignoring my brothers and walking into the woods.

"Hey, where are you going?"

Wordlessly, I point towards her. Her eyes haven't left me either, watching with interest as I get closer to her.

"The woods?" Jacob asks confused. I don't bother to answer, stumbling through the forest to get to her. I stop directly in front of her. She stares forward into my chest, unblinking and unwilling to look up. I can hear Jacob and Embry stop a bit behind me remaining quiet.

She swallows deeply before whispering in a soft voice, "I never got your name."

"Paul." After clearing my voice, I ask her the same.

"My name is Lizzy. Elizabeth really, but everyone called me Lizzy." My nose twitches at her use of past-tense, before deciding it must have been a mistake.

"Lizzy," I murmur, trying it out.

"Um, Paul. Are you okay?" Embry sounds a bit hysterical, and not of the laughing variety.

I frown, turning towards him in confusion. "Yeah?" I take a few steps back, before gesturing with a hand to Lizzy. Lizzy shakes her head viciously in a wordless no. I send her an odd glance before continuing. "This is Lizzy."

I'm met with two blank faces.

"Are you feeling okay?" Embry asks me, and by the look on his face I know he's not screwing with me.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I?"

"Because you're pointing towards air and calling it Lizzy," is Jacob's almost sarcastic answer. Now I'm the one sending crazy looks to them.

"What are you talking about? She's right here?" I go to touch her, but she backs up before I can. I give her a perplexing look, and she refuses to meet my gaze.

"Paul, there's nothing there." Embry says it softly, as if speaking to a frightened animal. I back up confused, glancing back and forth from them to Lizzy.

"Paul, I have something I need to tell you." Lizzy's voice is so soft that without my shifter hearing I wouldn't have heard it at all. She takes a deep breath before uttering one of the most bewildering and confusing things I've ever heard in my life. "Paul, they can't see me."

You've got to be fucking joking.

"Wait, what the hell are you talking about? If this is a joke it's not funny." I rush a hand through my hair in frustration before giving lethal glares to Jacob and Embry because they must have set this up just for kicks. There's no other possible answer. They're pretty good actors, better than I thought they would be. Embry is paler than I've ever seen him, and Jacob's expressions keeps switching from incredulous to worry and back again almost faster than I can follow.

"Paul, come here," Lizzy pleads in that soft tone that makes me feel like she'd never lie to me. But I'm too distracted by the looks on Jacob's and Embry's face to even listen to her. She takes a step towards me, her foot not making a sound in the crunchy Fall foliage. Why can't I hear her? I should be able to hear something, I think becoming a bit hysterical. "Hold out your hand," she demands, using the same tone from earlier. I hesitantly to do it, unsure exactly what she is up to. She brings her hand towards me, that slightly shimmery quality to her distracting me enough to temporarily forget Jacob and Embry. Her hand hovers above mine a moment, spasming almost as if trying to stop the slow, gradual movement towards my palm. Finally, as if gaining her courage, her hand slides towards mine with purpose, her chin tilting up stubbornly. When her hand touches mine, a light shiver runs through my hand, traveling its way up my arm and across my body. It's as if every single hair on my body stands on end. As suddenly as the feeling comes, it goes. I blink stupidly when I see her hand sitting beneath mine.

Her hand touched me, I know it did. I felt it, even if it was a bit odd. That's never happened to me when someone has touched me. I swear I saw it go through my hand, but that must of been my mind playing tricks on me.

"Do it again," I demand.

She does it, and this time I watch for any sort of trick. But the same thing happens again. Her hand passes though mine with little to no resistance and a slight shiver courses though my skin, although this one not as bad as the previous one.

"That doesn't make sense." It's all I can get out once I can form words. But another part of my brain debates that with me.

It doesn't make sense to be able to shift into a wolf, but I can. One should not be able to double their size, and change the shape of their bones. Perhaps she is just another creature that is just as illogical as me. I bring my eyes to hers, hopeful that she can logically explain the illogical away. She gives a sort of grimace, and goes to speak but the words get stuck in her throat and only a syllable that could mean anything comes out.

"Paul," she murmurs, almost as if she is loath say anything. "I'm dead."

I feel my entire body go lax, my face loosening into a blank stare.

What? Is that figuratively or literally? Dead? But she's right here. She's moving and breathing and… I study her, truly listening to her.

It's quiet. She's quiet.

I can't hear her heart, or even her breath. Her chest rises at odd moments, almost as if moving because of a force of habit. The wind is blowing, but she stays unmoved with her dress sitting still on her slender frame. And her body glitters, which in itself should have alerted me to something more. She is not a vampire. She can't be. Her eyes aren't red, they're green. Her skin is tan too, appearing healthy and alive despite her previous claim.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, and she truly looks like she is.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" I grip the familiar feeling of anger, because this feeling I have right now is so foreign that I'm over my head. "Why the hell are you even talking to me?"

She flinches as if I physically strike her, and she stares resolutely at the mulch covered ground. "Because I need your help," she admits with some reluctance. Embry interrupts before I can answer.

"Um, Paul. Let's go inside." His voice is on the verge of hysteria, breathy and the pitch uncontrolled. I grumble to myself, pacing back and forth.

Well I did say I wanted my life to get more interesting. Be careful what you wish for.


	6. Ch 6: Where Lizzy is Broken

I think this type of story suits me better. I don't think I'll undergo another complicated fanfic again. This one is straight to the point. It kept buzzing in my head until I finally wrote it all out. Thanks to everyone that has followed and favorited my story!

Comments:

Guest: Thank you for the review!

ThisIsHope: Thank you! Your review made me smile. :)

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><p>Lizzy's POV<p>

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><p>I'm not sure what I was thinking when I allowed myself to talk to Paul instead of run away. But I figured why not? I'm dead. Not much can hurt me.<p>

After that initial moment of feeling regretful to Paul, I began to see the humor in the situation. Especially since Paul was in denial of me being a ghost and all of his friends were there to watch him throughout his entire mental breakdown process. This is the most interesting thing that has ever happened to me in my whole un-dead life! As much as this may make me out to seem like a jerk, Paul's meltdown is one of the most amusing things I've ever seen. Think the equivalent of a giant cave man screaming and stomping around the forest, screeching about how I really am real and he's not crazy. It didn't help that throughout the whole episode I sat there and laughed. If I was alive I would have probably heaved my stomach onto the ground.

Maybe he was meant to make my existence less lonely, because this is the first time I've truly felt at peace since dying. I'm no longer bored out of my mind every waking hour. I watch him a lot, so much that he's beginning to ignore me. In fact, he won't so much as look my way in public. When he's with his friends he doesn't care, because they all think he's lost his mind now anyways.

I thought after dying nothing could shock me, but when I found out my human is, let's say, not so human, I sat in shock for days. Once I wrapped my head around it, awe filled me. The wolves are so beautiful, all of them different from the other. I even got to watch someone's first phase, although the ending made the novelty of the event bitter. Two siblings joined the pack, but they phased in front of their father and he had a heart attack. He didn't make it.

Although Paul's pack thinks he's a few crayons short of a crayon box now, they actually seem to like him more. Don't get me wrong, some of them are nervous around him. But most seem to like his disposition a lot better. He usually tries to ignore my incessant yapping when around his pack, but I'm very good at annoying people. My skills are a bit rusty, but they're still there. Who knew being the middle child would be so handy? Eventually he breaks, he always does. Then it's him shouting at seemingly empty air and pacing while he rants to me about how annoying I am. I don't always do that to him, but it seems we're at an impasse so I'm pulling out everything I've got. You see, he won't research my charm pieces until I prove to his pack that I'm real. I tried explaining to him that it's impossible to do that but he won't listen. He thinks I'm holding out on him.

At least I know what my wolf charm means. It has to symbolize him. He's a wolf. It can't get more obvious than that. But the flower and final symbol are still a mystery.

"Please look it up?" I beg. We're walking to Sam's house, Paul clumping through the forest in annoyance at my incessant and nonstop talking.

"No, not until you prove you're real." He doesn't even bother to turn around.

"But I'm not real."

His clomping pauses and he rest his hand on a nearby tree, turning his head slightly to be able to look at me before continuing as if he never stopped in the first place. "You know what I mean."

"I told you, I can't."

"Yes you can."

"No, I can't! I'm not some magical being Paul!"

"You're a ghost. How much more magical do you want?"

I let out a noise of frustration, wishing for the satisfaction of being able to kick something. You never know what you'll miss until it's gone.

"Listen, be quiet around the pack. If I were human they would have sent me to a psych ward already."

"Why should I?" I say in my most snotty voice. He glares back, the fierceness of the look momentarily forcing my eyes to widen in fear before I get ahold of myself and wipe the expression away. I snort at him as I pass by.

He can't hurt me, nothing can.

Paul barges into Sam's house, going straight for the kitchen where Emily is baking. Emily raises her brows in surprise before greeting him.

"Hey Paul, how have you been?"

I like Emily. The only time I ever see her angry is when the boys break something in her house. Most the time she's really sweet, always worrying about the people around her; but it's like a switch goes off and she becomes a different person once she hears that crack. I've only seen it happen once. Even Paul won't mouth off on her when Emily is on a rant. He usually disappears until word gets around that she's back to normal. That or either begs me to check to see if it's safe.

"Eh, I've been good. Are those cookies done yet?" He practically mauls her in an attempt to get the cookies from behind her. She grabs a nearby wooden spoon and holds it up as a weapon, forcing Paul to take a few steps back. Wooden spoons seem to be her weapon of choice when fending off hungry wolves.

"Not today, Claire is coming over and wanted some cookies. If I give one cookie to you, all of you will come buzzing around for some. I know how you guys work." Her eyes narrow suspiciously, before pointing towards the kitchen door. Paul slumps forwards, but obeys taking slow, morose steps out the kitchen.

"You should get me one," he whispers once outside of the kitchen. He plops onto the couch and stretches, a satisfied expression etched on every crevice of his body.

"I already told you I can't do that," I grumble, pouting as I sit down on the arm of the chair and fold my hands across my chest. His face scrunches up before his eyes open wide and I freeze, an unfamiliar feeling rolling though me as we lock eyes. He gives a jolt of surprise, before physically shaking himself and bringing his attention back to me.

"You're serious?"

"Of course I am! Do you think I've been joking this whole time!" Annoyance bubbles inside me, but I attempt to keep it at bay.

"So… you really can't prove you're real?"

"Paul, you're the first adult I've talked to since 1977," I respond in an even voice. His reaction is instant. He shoots straight up in shock, staring at me with his jaw gaping and eyes un-comprehensive.

If I weren't dead I would be blushing.

"Holy shit so you're-" he stops in mid-sentence, staring up at the ceiling and mouthing numbers as he counts. "You would be fifty-three if you had never died."

I remember when I was alive I was terrified of dying, the irreversibleness of it frightened me more than I have words for. But now, after all these years I think death could only bring me peace. I envy the living, simply because they're not stuck on this Earth for god knows how long. Living forever sounds great, but as you watch the people you love trade the smoothness of youth for bent backs, brittle bones, and wispy breaths you begin to change your mind.

It's not fun watching the people you love slowly die, especially when you're staying the same.

When you're alive it's less obvious, but when you're stuck in the same body for as long as I've been everything is so very clear. I would give anything just to live, or at least die. I'm tired of being stuck in this half-life. I clear my throat, trying to think of a change in subject but then Quil comes barging in with a little girl, a girl with ringlets that looks mighty familiar to me. My first response is to duck, peaking over the couch as she gets situated. She skips over to Paul, giggling as she stares at him.

"What is it?" he grumbles. Her airy laugh follows, echoing throughout the house.

"Qwil said to be nice to you because you're loony in-"

"Hey Claire!" Quil interrupts, skidding into the living room and grabbing her. Quil backs up nervously, clenching his fist against Claire's stomach. "Let's go eat those cookies Aunt Emily was talking about."

Paul glares at Quil the whole time, eyes narrowed and a displeased expression on his face. He sighs once they disappear from view, and whispers tells me that Quil is attempting to get Claire not to say anything like that again.

"Didn't you say you share a pack mind?" I ask suddenly. "Wouldn't they be able to see me through you."

His lip twitches before answering. "Yeah, they've seen you through me; but they still think I'm nuts since the pack have memories of the same exact instance and when they all compare every else sees nothing, and I see you. They think something is wrong with me."

"Maybe there is. Maybe this whole thing is in your head," I tease. It has the opposite response to what I was aiming for, his face turning a sickly pale color. I straighten up, feeling very worried for the boy in front of me.

"Am I really crazy?" His voice comes out quiet and childlike, and the noise in the kitchen goes deathly quiet.

"No, Paul! This is real. I'm real. I can show you my gravestone to prove it, although it's really far from here. Maybe you're a medium of some sort," I suggest in a soft tone.

"A medium." The word is pronounced awkwardly, his mouth making weird shapes while saying it. "But the only ghost I've seen is you."

Claire interrupts, skipping into the living room with a handful of cookies. She offers one to Paul and he accepts it happily before she notices me sitting on the back of the couch. She practically vibrates in excitement, rushing back into the kitchen and dragging Quil with her.

"Look Qwil! It's Tinkerbell! I told you she was real!" Quil confusion shows as she points to where I sit, but Paul shoots straight up.

"Tinkerbell?" He glances to me with one eyebrow cocked.

"Yes! She said her name is Tinkerbell! I didn't know that the first time I met her! Qwil, look it's Tinkerbell! Go catch her! I'm never fast enough."

Strangely enough, the first thought Claire had done when I told her I'm Tinkerbell was try to stick me in a jar. I don't know how she expected me to fit in one, considering how big I am. Maybe she thought it would be magic and I would shrink. Quil tries to go along with Claire, scooping up some air in the general direction she pointed and handing it to her.

"What is that?"

"It's Tinkerbell, you told me to catch her." Quil throws in a winning smile.

Claire burst into giggles, falling to the ground and rolling back in forth in glee. "No, silly! That's air."

"You can see Lizzy? Er, I mean Tinkerbell?" Hope shines in Paul's eyes.

"Of course! She's right-" she gets up off the ground, jumping over to where I am and pointing exactly to me. "Here!"

A thousand emotions flare through his face, but the most prominent one is relief. It might be a little kid with an overactive imagination seeing me, but at least it's someone.

"She said her name is Tinkerbell? Why did you say that?" he ask questions to both of us, glancing back and forth. I grin, sending him a teasing smile.

"Tinkerbell is my part-time job." I give Claire a wink and she laughs, the noise so contagious that I join in with her.

"Uh, what the heck is going on?" Quil looks confused, it's an expression he wears a lot around Paul.

"Don't you see! I'm not crazy! Claire can see Lizzy!" he burst out. Quil goes still, unsureness resonating from him as his eyes dart from Claire to Paul.

"You can see her Claire?" Quil's voice is hesitant.

"Of course silly. She's right here." She sits down next to me, patting close to where I'm at.

Quil frowns, his eyebrows sloping almost into a "V." "Paul, I swear to god if you've been messing with Claire-"

"I didn't! When the hell did I have time alone with her to tell her that anyways," Paul practically growls it out, his back slouching in what could only be defeat. He's given up trying to convince everyone that I'm not in his head. I wish I could comfort him, but words are all I can offer.

"If it would be easier for you, I could leave." The words have a bitter taste in my mouth, but I don't want to make his life more miserable by being here. He still has a life to live.

"Why would you leave?" Claire stares round eyed at me, her eyes watering.

"I could still stick around for you Claire, but eventually you won't be able to see me," I murmur.

"Why wouldn't I be able to see you?" Confusion scrunches up on her face leaving it to make a very unsatisfied expression.

I hesitate only for a moment. "That's just the way it is. Only a few kids can see me, and Paul is the first adult. As the years pass by I become less visible, and soon enough I'm thought of as an invisible friend that they had in their youth or forgotten entirely." I'm not sure why it's this way, I think it has to do with how open kids are. Logic doesn't dictate them like it does older people, so they're open to just about anything.

"I won't forget you,' she promises. "I'll always be able to see you."

I smile tiredly, nodding my head even though I know it's not true. She's not the first to promise this. She means it now, but somehow I'm always forgotten. It wouldn't help anything to tell her this though.

"I don't want you to leave," Paul finally answers. His face has aged since I last looked at it, tiredness and weariness running rampant. He attempts a smile, staring into my eyes. "Let's go look up that symbol thing and the flower. We'll see if your theory is right."

"Will you come back?" Claire stares hopefully at me and I smile softly.

"Of course, I'll come back for as long as you want me to," I promise, making her grin. Her tongue sticks out of the gap where her front tooth fell out before she races to Quil who no longer knows what to make of this. While we're walking I show him the last charm on the bracelet. He cocks his head as if attempting to work out a complicated puzzle. "I think I've seen that symbol before."

Hope soars in me, but I squash it before it has too much flight. Hope really hurts when what you hope for isn't possible. "Oh, where?" I make my voice slightly curious, as if speaking of the weather. Paul's lip twitches, before staring straight ahead.

"I'm not sure, it just looks familiar." He shrugs. "Maybe it's in my head. Like everything else." He rolls his eyes, his expression displeased.

The library tells us nothing about the symbol on my charm. I'm not surprised since googling things like 'diamonds with circles in the center" isn't very specific. We do, however, learn about my red poppy.

"It says right here that a red poppy can mean one of two things: remembrance or death." He continues to explain more about each answer, but I've already blocked him out. If I had any breath in my lungs all of it would have rushed out, because all I can think of is the three words repeating over and over in my head.

She killed me.

How could she kill me? Why would she kill me? She let me take that charm _knowing_ that I would die. Her deliberate and calculated smile echoes in my head, on a loop I can't seem to stop.

Suddenly it doesn't feel like I'm untouchable, because now I hurt.

"Thank you for doing this for me Paul." My voice is brittle and bare, the vulnerability in it startling him enough to pull his gaze from the screen.

"Lizzy, are you-"

"I'm fine. I'm just going to go now. Thank you again." I rush out of the library sprinting to the forest to hide and think of what I just learned.

I've had an inkling that is what at least one of the symbols meant, but to know it for sure is something else entirely. What did I ever do to deserve this? Why would she put me in this never ending purgatory? What did I ever do to her? All these questions reverberate through my mind, and I know I'll never have an answer. I tried finding her after I died, but there was no shop when I went back. There was only a brick wall. I thought maybe I didn't correctly remember where it was, but now I know the truth. And it burns.

She killed my older sister.

I remember her boyfriend's face as the tears rolled out of his eyes. I remember how he chucked the diamond ring across the room and ran out the door. He was never the same after that. He married, but he didn't love that new woman like he loved my sister. He loved my sister with everything, and he loves his wife with careful precaution. He became a drunk after she died, and it took him a while to put himself together.

She ruined my family.

Eating dinner at the table used to be a lively occurrence. It was filled with laughter and sarcastic marks; love and affection. When we died, that ended. My mother, father, and little brother barely spoke. They didn't ask how their day went, and didn't ask about school or homework or whether my little brother liked the girl down the road he sometimes made eyes at. They said nothing, only "Pass the food please." I watched them every night, as their eyes shifted to the two empty chairs that seemed to burn an obtrusive hole into their lives. The chairs seemed louder than they were, if that is at all possible. They didn't want to look there, didn't want to be reminded. But at the same time they couldn't help themselves. Every night my mother cried herself to sleep that first month, and there were no words my father could say to make her feel better. Every day my brother became more withdrawn. He turned from rambunctious and loud to quiet and contrite.

She condemned me.

I remember a theory about purgatory being Earth, with heaven above and hell below. When living like this I couldn't agree more. I have to watch as people get hurt, unable to do anything. I've seen people get hit by cars, shot in the street, and mugged in the dark. The worst thing I've ever done in my life is lie to my parents about going to a high school party in eighth grade, but that couldn't possible make me deserve this. Is there an end to eternity? I remember learning in school that one day the Earth and sun will die, exploding and killing us all. Will I float aimlessly in space? Never able to end my time. My chest heaves with loud cries I'm only noticing now. The tears run down, each one a token of my sadness. I wish I never learned this, because now I know the truth.

I am powerless. I am alone. And now, I am broken.


	7. Ch 7: Where Paul Molds A Stream

Can anyone guess what is going to happen yet?

Comments:

ThisIsHope: I put crying in the same category and laughing. After all, to laugh you have to be able to take breath into your lungs. She can laugh, so I think she'd be able to cry. It's not that she can't breathe, it just serves no purpose. Also, I try not to be too detailed because it can get boring, but hopefully I'm adding the right amount. Thanks for the review!

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><p>Paul's POV<p>

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><p>Lizzy disappears from sight faster than I am even able to follow. It was like one second she was here and the next she was gone. I sigh out loud, rubbing my forehead tiredly. Perhaps I should have broken it to her easier, but I wasn't thinking about that when I read it. I'm not the most thoughtful of guys, I was just doing what she asked me to. I can't even smell her to find her; she has no scent. I shake myself, before deciding to do something more useful. Maybe I can find what the last charm means. I hope she knows how much I am sacrificing for her. I haven't opened a book since seventh grade, at least not of my own choosing.<p>

Dusting the old volume off I read off the title: "The Study of Symbols and Their Meanings Throughout History."

I'm probably going to make it about three pages into this book before calling it quits, and that's being generous. I can barely read things I like, let alone the things I don't. I've got to suck it up though, I want her to feel better. Okay, first step: read the table of contents. It, of course, doesn't help me at all. I read the first page before I start skimming throughout the whole book. Frustrated, I slam the book closed with a growl. It startles the librarian, her eyes widening into almost perfect, symmetrical circles. I run a hand through my hair before jumping up and walking over to her. The poignant smell of fear hits the air, and I notice her breath stops a moment before I'm at her desk. I scowl, attempting to think of a way to appear less daunting. Another waif of fear hits me and I fix my scowl into a relaxed expression before giving her my best Paul Lahote smile.

"I was wondering if you could help me with something." I grin winningly, and her fear lessons. She stares at my teeth in apprehension, and I close my lips over them. Kim has told me before not to show teeth when I smile. Apparently it's frightening. I didn't believe her until now.

"Uh-yeah, sure. What can I help you with?" She straightens her back, and pulls on a strict, no nonsense expression.

"I'm looking for a certain symbol, and I was wondering if you could help me with that." I can tell the oddness of my request throws her off, but she shrugs before grabbing a piece of paper.

"What kind of symbol is it?"

"That's the problem. I don't know."

A displeased frown tugs at her lips. "What does it look like then? What does it mean?"

"I don't know what it means, but I know what it looks like." I gesture with a hand towards the piece of paper, and she hands it over to me. I hand it back when I finish and I can tell by the look on her face it doesn't ring any bells.

"Do you know where it's from? As in what culture?"

"No clue."

She tilts her head to the side in question, turn the paper this way and that trying to make sense of it. "It looks like it's a Native American symbol, but I could be wrong. I'll be back, I'm going to ask the head librarian."

She trails off from her desk, her scent of fear all but gone and in its place curiosity. She's still turning the paper a matter of different ways as she disappears into the office. A few minutes later she comes back out, this time with an older woman. Her back is curved with age and she walks with a small gait, almost wobbling. I recognize her immediately. She used to be on the council of elders, but retired about five years ago. Those five years have not been kind. She used to be small but sprightly, now she's hunched and tiredness radiates from her in waves.

"Hello Paul." She gives me a knowing look, as if she can see straight through me. She probably can knowing her. It's almost impossible to lie to her. Somehow she always knows, and she's fond of whacking the lies out of people so most of the time people don't bother to lie around her.

I swallow, my throat feeling parched from nerves. If I had known she was here I would not have come so easily. Even now, the woman frightens me. It's ridiculous, considering the fact that if she were to hit me she'd most likely only hurt herself. I'd barely feel it. "Hello," I murmur in answer.

"This symbol, what is it you want to know about it?" She gets straight to the point. Age doesn't change that about her.

I clear my throat once again before answering. "I want to know its meaning."

In the folds of her face sit shinning eyes. Young eyes in an old body, as if her spirit has not yet processed how late in life she is. She turns thoughtful, a frown pulling at her mouth making the wrinkles even more pronounced.

"It's a symbol, a word, in our history." She gives me a look, not quite blaming but not happy either. "Many of our people do not even speak our language anymore. We lose our roots more and more with each generation, and no matter what we do it does not seem to slow the process. We make Quileute mandatory in our schools, yet even our young cannot hold a full conversation in Quileute. It is tiring." And her eyes show it.

"I'm sorry." I'm not sure exactly what to say, and that is all that comes to mind. She sends me a weighted look, before switching to Quileute.

"You know our language son." It's not a question, but I answer anyways.

"Yes."

"But even with that it is not enough. This is a word in Quileute." Her answers stuns me, and my movements cease. Is it really that simple? If that's true then everything seems meant to be, like she's supposed to be here. It's all falling into place.

"What does it mean?" Desperation is clear in my voice. I don't even bother hiding it as I grip the counter. It makes a cracking noise and I immediately loosen my grip. Even now her eyes are knowing, leaving me bare to her in a way that I'm not sure I'm comfortable with.

She knows. She knows I am a spirit warrior. I can see it in her eyes. I can also see she understands how much this knowledge means to me.

"I will give you a deal young one. Promise me you will always fight to keep our culture alive, and I will tell you what you wish to know."

"But I don't have the power to-" I trail off, realizing what she means when her eyes stare steadily into mine. It's not about power, it's about will. I have to have the _will_ to do this. I can't lie, not to her. So how important is this information to me? How far am I willing to go? It's like I am standing on the edge of a precipice and once I pick a road there is no turning back.

"I accept." It's like a power radiates through me with the words, making me feel stronger. Where I was once dangling and unsure of my future, I know now. For the first time in a while I feel completely and utterly…

Calm.

It's an odd feeling, one I'm not used to.

She smiles in triumph, both of us happy with the deal. "The symbol you wish to know is of great importance to us, for it means life. It makes our crops grow, allows our children to flourish, and gives us meaning in a world that can be bleak." She turns her back to me, her slow but sure gait walking back to the office.

Life.

"Elder Onawa! Wait!" My shout brings all the attention to me, but it's not like there's a lot of people here though. Only two, both hiding in the corners of the room. I ignore them both, hurrying over to where she stands. Even with her back sloping she radiates strength. "Will you teach me to read Quileute?" I feel breathless and jittery as I ask. A pleased smile pulls at the folds of her face, triumphant in nature.

"I would love to Paul Lahote. Lessons start every Tuesday and Thursday." She doesn't bother to check and see if I'm free those days. She knows I'll make room somehow. She's just that confident.

When she disappears it's like she takes all the strength in the room with her. I slump against the wall, and wonder exactly what I am doing and what I am trying to prove. Out of all the people on this reservation, why did she choose me? I'm not a leader like Sam, and I'm not strong like Jacob. I'm not smart like Jared or fast like Leah. I'm not much of anything. I won't be able to convince our people of the importance of holding onto our culture. If the elders cannot even do it, how can I?

Even as I ask this the answer is apparent, at first it's a silent and weak idea and then slowly grows in strength as I begin to believe the chant.

Because I am not one, but all.

I have a little of each of them in me. If I can keep balance, then maybe one day this will work and I will have upheld my promise to Elder Onawa.

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><p>I don't see Lizzy for almost a month. After two weeks of avid searching I begin to slow, and once it hits the three week mark all I do is glance around when I'm out. It's like she took part of me when she disappeared. I don't like the analogy of the statement, but I know it's true. I didn't realize I had began to depend on her until she left. She somehow always made me feel happy and better about myself, even as she annoyed me.<p>

What is she is gone forever?

I bury the thought, labeling it as negative and refusing to believe it. She must come back. She has to. She has my tribes symbol dangling from her wrist and she is somehow part of us because of the fact. I refuse to believe anything else. She must come back.

My pack notices a difference in me, and they attribute it to the conversation I had with Elder Onawa. They're less guarded around me, and less afraid. They're willing to joke with me, where before they were careful with their words just in case they somehow angered me. Part of that reason is of course because of Elder Onawa, but the other part is Lizzy.

I haven't missed someone since my pops died.

I didn't always call him that, but when I was little I watched a cartoon where one of the characters called their dad pops, and the nickname stuck. He laughed when I first used it, ruffling my hair with a smile and shaking his head.

I miss Elizabeth.

Even with death she's so alive, amusing herself with the oddest things. I can tell not being able to touch pains her, and even though she claims that being in a half-life is what's worse I know what really is. What bothers her isn't the fact that she's dead, but the fact that she cannot feel or touch. If it weren't for that I don't think she'd hate being dead as much. She wants to help so much, but she can't. Not even a little. It kills her. I don't even think she realizes that is what she misses most, and what she hates the most too. I didn't see it at first, but I do now.

Life.

What a cruel reminder to put on her.

But maybe it is about her spirit, and how lively it is.

The bracelet tells the story of her un-dead life. Once she died the red poppy fell off as if it had fulfilled its role. The same thing happened with the wolf. I still have it tucked in my sock drawer shoved in the furthest corner. I never told her I kept it. I wasn't sure if she'd be happy or sad to see it again, so I kept it to myself.

Maybe life is literal.

Hope flairs in me. Maybe that charms means she will have life again. She will be able to touch and breathe and smell and be seen. It will be everything she ever wanted. I have to find her, have to tell her. It begins my thorough search of the Rez. For the next three days I spend every spare moment I have trying to find her. Even on patrol I look for her.

It's all for naught of course. I should know by now Lizzy isn't found unless she wants to be. I've never been very patient, and this knowledge in me wants to burst out. There's no sense telling anyone else but her, they won't feel the urgency that I do.

While on patrol I repeat the symbols I learn each week, going over their shapes and meaning in my head. To my surprise, the pack is starting to learn our written language because of my rope memorization. Jared was the only one passable at it, but now we're all getting better. Even the ones that are annoyed with the fact that I keep repeating it are learning. I laugh at their irritated glances and flaired snouts because it means I'm already holding my side of the deal with Elder Onawa.

Maybe Elder Onawa knew this would happen, and that's why she choose me. After all, all it takes is one ripple to begin to make a change.


	8. Ch 8 Where Lizzy Has a Realization

From now on I am not posting a chapter until I get at least five reviews. I thought if I left you all alone about it you would do it eventually, but no. I'm doing this to better my writing, but I cannot do that without feedback. I spend a lot of my time working on this story and it feels like I am wasting my time when people won't even review it. In eight chapters, only two different people have reviewed which is ridiculous. I'm sorry to the two people who have been reviewing because now you won't get updates as fast. I only continued posting chapters because of you two. Thank you both for reviewing when no one else would.

Comments:

ThisIsHope: Thanks for the review! There's actually a little bit more about the breathing thing in this chapter. ;)

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><p>Lizzy's POV<p>

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><p>I fall into a sort of depressive state after learning the truth of the flower charm. I wanted to yank my bracelet off and scream at the world; but the bracelet will never come off, and no matter how loud I yell the world will never hear me. I'm not sure how long it took to pull myself together. Time doesn't really matter when you're dead. I have nothing to keep track of.<p>

I decide to find Paul once I've pulled myself together, laughing as I watch the fluffy red creatures play mischief on a man, turning on his blinkers every few minutes. I watch as children pass me, their happy screams echoing down the road. None of them can see me, but that doesn't bother me this time because I'm going to see Paul. It takes a bit to find him. He's at a diner, talking to a woman with chocolate brown hair pulled up in a messy bun and a country accent. You don't hear that accent up here much. In fact, it's the first time I heard it in this part of the country at all. It takes him a moment to notice me, but when he does it's obvious. Shock makes his jaw drop and he hurries to drop a tip and pay at the cash register.

"Where have you been?" he whisper yells, turning towards the forest to have our conversation. His pack may think he's crazy, but that doesn't mean he wants the whole reservation to think that.

His question leaves me feeling odd, so I skip it as if I never heard it. "How have you been Paul?"

"How have I- are you really that out of it to be asking me questions like that? Lizzy, you've been gone for almost a month."

I blink, my eyebrows raising with the motion. A month? I didn't think I was gone for more than a week. I change my expression, not wanting Paul to know how much this bothers me. He's more receptive than I thought because he drops the subject.

"I've got something to tell you about the last charm on your wrist." Excitement coats his voice, but that doesn't beat back the dread I feel. I know what this charm is. It's meant to taunt me with something I'll never have. A reminder of a dumb decision, and what happens when you don't listen to good advice.

"Let's not worry about that Paul," I say softly, turning my gaze away from him. After learning what the flower meant I have no wish to know what the last symbol means.

"But it's good news. I think it means that one day you'll be alive again."

My foot is unsteady on the next step, almost tripping. "Do you?" I keep my tone light and slightly curious, as if talking about the weather or something equally mundane.

"Yes! It has to be!" I can tell he truly believes this.

I ponder his words. My physical body is already in the ground. It's been there for almost four decades. I'd be surprised if anything more than bones sat there now. No, life is not possible.

But maybe it's a different type of life.

"It might mean what you think it does Paul, or maybe it means I will find life in death. A real death." Giddiness fills me, and I grin. But his smile waivers as mine grows. "What?" If my soul is put to rest I can be free. I won't be stuck here anymore. Doesn't he understand this?

"You can't die." It's a stubborn statement, one a child would say when someone attempts to challenge a conviction they refuse to believe otherwise.

"Paul, I'm already dead. I've been dead for a long time."

"But that doesn't make sense. There has to be a reason. There has to be." The words are whispered, as if meant only for his ears.

"A reason for what? To keep me on this Earth? I think not. I have no unfinished business, nothing that needs to be done."

"Maybe it's not for you though." His conclusion startles me. I turn my head to his and our eyes meet. That feeling runs through me, the one that sometimes happens when our eyes lock. I can't make sense of it, so I always ignore it.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that maybe it's not you that keeps you here, maybe it's someone else."

"I know who keeps me here." The words are bitter, like lemon juice that pools on my tongue. That woman keeps me here, and she always will.

"No, I mean maybe somebody needs you. Someone here." He stomps in front of me in an attempt to gain my full attention. We both know that this can't stop me, but my feet stop anyways. "Think about it. That wolf falls off when you meet me, and I'm a spirit warrior in the shape of a wolf. How many wolf shifter's do you think there are? Plus, that last symbol is a word in Quileute. It means life."

I do not need breath, it does nothing for me. Sometimes I breathe just because it feels odd not to, almost as if breathing is ingrained into my very being. But I stop breathing then. It doesn't hurt, but it's an uncomfortable feeling.

Life. It means life in Quileute. What are the odds? My advice I just gave myself minutes ago hit me in the face.

Listen to good advice when you hear it.

I smile, and he returns one. There's a skip in his step, and he begins to go on and on about what it would be like for me to be alive. I go along with it, nodding at the right moments and keeping my happy demeanor for him.

He thinks it means life for me, that I can somehow magically come back from the dead after saving someone and walk this Earth once more. But I know better.

It's for him.

The charm falling off for him backs up my reasoning. There are other shifter's around, seven to be exact, but it fell off for him. There will be no fairy tail ending for me. I never had one when I was alive and I won't have one in death either. It's glaringly obvious I'm in that small percent that horrible things happen to, the percent no one thinks they will be a part of until it happens to them.

After that I guard Paul with an almost vengeance. I barely give him time to himself, and he doesn't seem to mind. Something has changed in him since I left. It's made him happier and brighter than I've ever seen him. I guard him like a watch dog as he runs his laps around the reservation. I'm not sure what I would do if he meets a vampire, but there has to be something. Life couldn't be that cruel, could it? Not to him. I refuse to believe otherwise.

I find irony in this situation. He is a protector of his people, but I am a protector of him.

At least I like to think so.

He studies Quileute in his spare time now. I'm beginning to learn a few words myself because of that. He says he's finally found something he's passionate about, and I'm happy for him. I could tell he was struggling before, but now he's found his way. He likes to place the crinkled and dusty volumes in front of me and ask me to quiz him. I do, and he writes out each symbol with care. He seems to have fun doing it, and said that after he began to get the hang of it that it's easier than English. None of it looks easy to me, but I keep my comments to myself.

Sometimes I see Claire. She's here often for a little girl that is from a different tribe. Sam's girlfriend, Emily, is her Aunt so maybe that is why. When I mentioned how much Claire comes to visit to Paul he had an odd look on his face, before explaining what an imprint was. It sounded so mythical, like the princess stories little girls get read to in their youth.

I found it romantic. Sort of like it was the wolves reward for giving their life for their people. I told Paul that and he snorted, saying it wasn't that simple. Imprints are complicated, and not all of them are happy to get imprinted on. Some wolves have dated their imprints family members before, ruining relationships. One imprint is much too young. I asked him about that and after a moment of hesitance he admitted that Claire is Quil's imprint. It took me a moment to wrap my head around that. When he brought up imprints after my initial question about Claire I should have connected the dots, but I didn't.

What makes Claire and Quil so compatible? There's a fourteen year gap between them. With Jared and Kim it was obvious. Kim helps calm Jared and his spastic ways, and Emily helps Sam shoulder his responsibility.

But Claire and Quil?

Maybe Claire is too young to decide. I'm sure fate or the Quileute spirits wouldn't make such a mistake. The age gap is daunting to say the least, but when I watch him with her it's obvious he would do anything to protect her. She loves him, and thinks of him as her best friend and protector. When Claire desires something from the other wolves, or feels like something is unfair, she always calls to Quil; and no matter how daunting it may be to go against that wolf he always does it for her. The other day Paul sneaked one of Claire's muffins and Claire noticed. Quil swallowed hard when he realized Claire had called him because of Paul, but remained strong. I could see in Paul's eyes that he wasn't going to make this easy, nor was he going to eat it and make her cry.

My laugh was the deciding factor. It distracted him enough that he lost focus and Quil grabbed it in Paul's moment of weakness. Triumphant, Quil marched over to Claire with a bow presented her with the slightly smushed muffin. Claire didn't seem to notice its mused state, wrapping her arms around Quil with a girlish squeal and shoving the muffin into her mouth. She stuck her tongue out at Paul as they walked into the house, and to her confusion Paul gave her a wink in return.

The seasons pass and the only thing I seem to be aware of is Paul. I watch Claire, but not like I do Paul. I could have real conversations with him. I told him all my wishes I had in life, and he told me his in return. I told him about death, and answered all the questions I could. We whispered into the night, trading stories and secrets like valuable currency. Paul is a real friend, and I haven't had one of those in a very long time.

Sometimes he makes me wish that I was alive, but I always banish those thoughts in my head. If I didn't they would torture me, make me go mad with want. I accepted long ago that I would never walk Earth with breath in my lungs, and there's no point revisiting that fact.

One day Sam called all of the pack, announcing a war. I could only stare straight ahead, attempting to keep myself together but feeling as if I would burst. Could I protect him in a war?

My worry was for naught when I saw just how skilled he is at dismantling vampires. He didn't get one scratch, and I felt a surge of pride at the fact.

We continued on as we had, with me wrapped in the bubble that is Paul. I admired him for his strength and passion. _I_ never had so much passion in life. I was more of a doormat, always willing to lose an argument if that meant not holding grudges against another no matter how I felt about the subject. I do annoy people for amusement, there's not much to do when you're dead, but whenever I can tell a person is seriously bothered I stop. I feel like harmony is best, and I do not like to argue. Even death has not changed that about me.

But Paul is passion incarnated. When he feels, he truly _feels_. His beliefs are firm, and it's very hard to turn him from them. He never doubts himself, and he's _just so strong_. Both physically and mentally. I wish I was more like him, but I know I'd never be able to. Being passionate does not always mean keeping the peace, sometimes it's about rocking the boat and sinking a bit; and sometimes it's about sinking others.

Paul began to become the go-to guy when it came to legends and tribal history. Paul soaked up the knowledge, desperate for it like a parched man thirsts for water. His hunger for all things Quileute never ended, and when he ran out of material to study at the library he went to Billy Black. Billy Black is a tribal elder and orator. He knows all the legends, some which are not even written. Billy Black would peer at Paul with a secret understanding in his eyes, and I realized what Billy was training him to do before Paul even realized it.

Billy always thought it would be his son who would teach the next generation of Quileute's and be the next orator, but instead it ended up being Paul.

Paul still doesn't realize it, but I do. He'll know one day.


	9. Ch 9: Where Paul Hears No Evil

I posted the chapter when I got five reviews just as promised. Three more chapters till the story ends! I'll started working on another imprint story, this one is going to be with Seth. :)

Comments:

Guest and sweetdevilgirl: Thanks for the review~

ThisIsHope: Thanks for being understanding. I actually wrote this because I wanted something different. I figure why write a story if you can't add at least _something_ new. The same thing over and over gets boring, and I felt this was at least somewhat different if I could convey it right. Some people's characters just pull you in and the same plot doesn't matter because the character is so amazing and original, but I don't think I can do a character so well that I can re-use ideas. Maybe I should try an over-used plot to challenge myself one day. But not yet. I still have other ideas buzzing in my brain. :)

twihard104: No, but that's a good guess. She's really just an elder Quileute, and do you mean happy about the last charms meaning? I wouldn't exactly say happy, more like determined. Thanks for reviewing! 3

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><p>Paul's POV<p>

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><p>If I had known that I would fall in love with a ghost, would I have still been willing to give Lizzy a chance?<p>

If I knew this before I got to know her? No. I would have stayed clear of her. Avoided her like the plague. But now... how could I give this up? I didn't know it was possible to love someone you cannot touch, at least not the way I do.

I can't tell her that I love her, because knowing her she would leave. She would say it would only hurt me to feel that way and sticking around could only end in more pain for me.

So it will remain a secret, the only secret I'll ever keep from her.

I'd give anything to be with her. Sometimes it tortures me, knowing that I'll never be able to be with her the way I wish to be. It physically hurts, like a rock that sits heavy in my chest. I never believed it before when people would say someone died of heartbreak, but now I do. It hurts not to be with her, but I can't even imagine what it would feel like for her to be gone forever.

I didn't fall in love with her on purpose. One day I woke and realized, yes. I do love Lizzy. And yes, I love her more than I should. It was too late to do anything by then, and after my initial nervousness at the realization I didn't want to.

My pack are starting to believe me about Lizzy, especially when Claire sits down and has a full conversation with what seems like the armrest of a sofa. I add my comments here and there, and it seems to have alerted them that there is at least something odd going on. At first they thought maybe it was the spirit of one of our people trying to contact us, but when I told them she was white that ruined their idea. Quil and Embry believe me now, and Sam attempts to keep his comments to himself. He likes to remain impartial.

I've changed a lot in the past year, and I can attribute it all to Lizzy. She forced me to find my passion. It was by accident, but still it was all her. People don't fear me as much anymore, and in my mother's words I no longer look like a storm cloud stomping around La Push.

Lizzy keeps me happy.

When she's gone too long I worry. Even though I know nothing can hurt her I feel apprehensive about the fact that maybe one day she will just disappear.

"Mrs. Hokwat." The foreign word is awkward on Lizzy's tongue, a slight accent as she tries to pronounce the Quileute name. She continues on, "Doesn't that mean something? I remember learning it with you. I swear I do." Her utter conviction of the fact has me laughing out loud, the sound loud and boisterous. I'm on my shift at Mrs. Hokwat's. I still work for extra cash at her store.

"The word 'Hokwat' in Quileute means something like 'foreign' or 'not-Quileute'. Its direct translation is 'drifting house people' because when we first saw the pilgrims we thought they lived in the ships they sailed on."

Her eyes shift back in forth in thought, puzzling over this information. "But she's Quileute."

Her observation isn't far off. Mrs. Hokwat looks completely Quileute, from the long white braid that trails all the way to her waist to the strong nose and dark pigment of her skin.

"It's said she got that last name because long ago my people adopted a pair of young white children into our tribe, a boy and a girl. As time passed we found that the boys' soul was the same as ours. Even though he could not shift into the wolf like our warriors, the wolf spirit was in him and he became a great warrior and made our tribe proud. We named him Hokwat when we first found him, and he did not wish to change his name after because that was the name he found honor under. It's said we took them in because their family had been killed in a raid and the female was an imprint to one of our spirit warriors."

Her brows furrows as she thinks over this, before a kick from her feet dangling off the stool tells me she's finished with the thought. Before Lizzy can ask another question Embry burst through the door. Lizzy visibly jumps at the noise and I glare at him, but drop the expression immediately. It's not like Embry can see her.

"Paul, there's something wrong with Claire," he rushes out. From the corner of my eye I see Lizzy's back straighten in attention.

"Like what?"

"She passed out and wouldn't wake up. They're heading to the hospital now."

"My shift doesn't end for another hour."

"Mrs. Hokwat will understand Paul! Quil needs us." It's all that needs to be said before I hang my apron on a ring and lock up the store. The hairs on the back of my neck stands up and I strip, very aware of Lizzy's eyes on the back of my head. Quil is a mess when we get there, alternating between pacing and slumping dejectedly against a chair.

"I'm sure it's nothing. Maybe she didn't get enough liquids," Emily whispers.

But we all know that wouldn't be it. Quil takes care of Claire better than he takes care of himself. He learned to cook so that he could feed her. Claire's mother taught him how to take care of Claire's hair. Quil barely even brushes his own. Hell, if Quil thinks she's been too active he chases her down with a drink and convinces her to drink it so there's no way that's possible.

None of us contradict her though, because even though we know it's not true we can't dare to say it out loud.

Claire's parents come soon, and they rush over to Emily and Sam and begin to quiz them in an attempt to figure out what's wrong. I block them out, my palms becoming sweaty as the time ticks by. Quil is pale, with a tinge of green. It's a color I've never seen on him. I place my hand firmly on his shoulder and we share a weighted glance. He swallows thickly before turning away.

"Maybe it's something simple, like…." Words fail him and he doesn't bother to finish the sentence. We call all fill in that blank with different horrors.

Lizzy sits in the middle of the floor with her arms wrapped around her knees. People walk through her as they pass by but she doesn't seem to register it, her mind a million miles away. I decide I don't care what people think this time and kneel in the middle of the hallway with her, staring until she blinks out of it and peers at my face.

"Don't beat yourself up Lizzy, you couldn't of done anything." It's a soft reprimand, one I could tell she needed based on the guilty look she has on her face.

"Maybe I could of if I paid more attention. If I wasn't so wrapped up in-" but she doesn't finish her sentence, much like Quil. She turns away from me to stare down the hall, refusing to meet my gaze. "People are going to think you're crazier than you are, sitting in the hallway like this and talking to me," she rebukes in what I know is an attempt to change the subject.

"I don't really care about that right now Lizzy." It's the last thing on my mind.

A doctor finally comes over to us, his face not giving anything away. "I assume that you're Claire's mother and father?" It's not too hard to guess who are Claire's parents. Claire has her mother's ringlets and eyes; the ringlets Claire's mom got from her own mother, Claire's grandmother, who is foreign. Claire has her father's small nose and chin.

"Yes." It's spoken in a gasp, as if her mother didn't bother to breathe before answering. She probably didn't. It's hard to breathe right now, especially with the doctor not giving one hint away.

"Well first I have to say that Claire is in stable condition right now. We gave her an IV first thing and she's getting everything she needs from that." That doesn't sound too good. "Does your family have any known diseases?"

And there's the bomb, because now there is no doubt something is seriously wrong with Claire. Quil's hands begin to tremble, and he shakes his head no in disbelief. Tear's coat Claire's mom's eyes, before she tells the doctor that there's high blood pressure on her husband's side. The doctor frowns, staring down at the ground in thought.

"Well your daughter does not have high blood pressure, she has a type of cancer that is very hard to notice." A sob breaks out of her mother and she covers her mouth in an attempt to choke it back. Quil looks like he's in shock, his mouth slightly open and staring unseeing down the corridor. I tune in and out of the conversation still attempting to process everything. No, it's not too late for treatment. Yes, she can still make it through this. Yes, she will have to do chemo. Yes, she will probably lose her hair. The questions go on and on until I just want to block them out so I can't hear anymore. The pack has surrounded Quil, but he's still in shock. They've sat him down and are whispering to him, but he doesn't seem to hear them. I can't go up to him. There's nothing I can say that's any better than what they're saying already. I turn to Lizzy, but she's gone. My breath catches and I force myself to relax, attempting to think of reasons why she left.

There are dozens of them.

How did we not know Claire was sick? Shouldn't we have smelled it on her? Why didn't we? The spirits wouldn't do this, would they? They wouldn't give an imprint to us and then kill her. She will be okay, she has to be. Before I realize it I'm repeating the words to Quil, who finally seems to come to. He grips onto my words with a stubborn determination, before walking over to Claire's mother to give the sobbing woman a hug.

Eventually we all visit with Claire, giving her words of strength and promising everything will be okay. She's asleep for the whole thing, but that doesn't seem to deter any of us. When it's finally my turn I first notice the too large bed with the too small child laying in it; a child that has to business sleeping in a bed like that. A glimmer distracts me enough to notice Lizzy standing in the corner of the room, watching as Claire sleeps like one would envision a guardian angel of some sort would. I'd like to think that, but I know Lizzy can't help Claire no matter how much she wishes she could. As much as all of us wish she could.

"Why didn't we notice?" Quil's voice cracks, giving words to the thoughts that have been floating in all of our heads. "What use am I if I can't even notice things like this?"

For the first time I've ever seen, Lizzy attempts to touch someone. Her land floats gently to Quil's shoulder and she holds it with such frustration that it seems to suffocate her.

He doesn't feel it. Not one bit.

"The doctor said it's hard to notice," Emily murmurs.

"Yeah, but we still should have been able to smell it. We should have-" his voice breaks off and he burst into sobs, leaning onto Claire's bed and clutching the blankets in white fists. Sam ushers him out with soft words and Quil leans on him for strength. Emily wipes away tears and Claire's mother rushes over to give her a hug. They clutch to each other for strength, and Emily whisper's about how we will all be fine, and Claire will get better.

That has to be the truth. I believe the truth, because there is no other alternative.

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><p>Btw that Hokwat story is NOT real. I made it up. The word, however, is real. I don't think you guys would think it's a real story but just in case. I don't wanna mess up someone's culture or anything.<p> 


	10. Ch 10: Where Lizzy Feels Useless

Two more chapters until it's finish! Don't forget to review!

Comments

ThisIsHope: Oh gosh I'm sorry but I started laughing as soon as I read Kumquat. I have a horrible temptation of calling someone that now lolol. P.S. You're on the right track for your question. ;)

sweetdevilgirl- I was going to, but then I figured no one would know what cancer I was naming anyways. Thank you!

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><p>Lizzy's POV<p>

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><p>Just as I feel like I can't be any more useless, I'm proved wrong once again by the universe.<p>

I've been so wrapped up in Paul that I didn't even notice Claire was sick. Usually I'm pretty good about things like that. People turn a grayish color to my eyes when sick, but I'm only seeing it now. There's the slightest pallor of sickness in her face now that she's so still. She never seemed sick, she's always been so happy.

Now that I think back on it, I realize there were hints. She's been less active the past month, getting tired faster than usual. She's been eating less, signs all of us brushed away thinking that she's going through a stage.

I truly am useless.

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><p>A month passes and Claire still isn't better. She's beginning to lose her hair. It was heartbreaking when she noticed. Her mother was pulling a brush through it and a chunk came out. She burst into tears. She'd been amazingly strong until then. The chemo makes her sick, and her once never ending movement is barely a buzz. She doesn't complain, and only ask when will she get better again or if the treatment will work this time. She's had four, one each week. Every time she goes for chemo it chips a little more off her. Quil is barely holding himself together. He stays strong in front of her, but as soon as she's out of sight and hearing distance he burst into tears.<p>

Because the fact is she's not getting better, she's getting worse.

She had a 70-90% change of living. How could Claire, the cute little ball of energy that she is, fall into that 10-30% mortality rate? The doctors are on repeat, telling everyone not to lose hope since she's not in the high risk range and many people make a comeback from this and live perfectly healthy lives.

Soon enough Claire is frail. She won't eat, because the chemo just makes her throw it all up. All her nutrients come from the needle that painfully juts into her vein, irritating the skin all around it. Her weight plummets until she is only skin and bones, a caricature of what she used to be. She's lost all the hair on her head. There's a few wisps left and she refuses to touch them. She was playing with the strands once and all of them fell out into her hands. It started another round of tears. Her parents keep themselves together pretty well, but only when Claire is strong. They lose it whenever she waivers. Quil's resolve to not break in front of Claire keeps him going in those times when Claire's parents cannot. He hasn't shed one tear in front of her.

Claire talks to me often. She asks me about death, and how much it hurts. She asks if she will be a ghost like me, and how much do dead people miss their family. She even asks me if there's muffins and cookies in heaven, and I tell her I don't know. I've never been there.

She asks me a lot of questions.

The doctors noticed her talking to me on one of their daily rounds and wanted to give her medicine for hallucinations, but her parents were adamantly against it. They said they're already pumping Claire up with enough drugs that they don't need to add another. We told Claire not to talk to me in front of the doctors anymore after that, and to try not to do it in front of her parents either. She listens for the most part.

Her parents had to sell their home and move into a small apartment. The pack tries to help with money whenever they can. They've asked for donations in both the Makah and the Quileute reservation. Paul drops every penny he has into that jar, as do the others. When Paul is not working, he's patrolling. When he doesn't patrol, he visits with Claire.

Then came the day when the doctors officially announced her to be in the high risk category, with only a 30% chance of survival.

There are always tears in her mother's eyes when she visits after that, although she fights to keep them from falling. Usually she succeeds, but other times she doesn't.

"Why are you crying mommy?" Claire's voice is weak, barely able to be heard over the beeps of the monotonous machine. "It's okay. One day I'll be all better and we can go to the park and eat ice cream like we used to. I'll get hair again too and you can brush it all you want." The statement is surprising, because Claire hates to have her hair brushed.

Claire's comforts break the woman and her husband has to practically carry her out. Claire stares where her mother once sat before bursting into tears herself. Quil bundles up with her and holds her tight, the sobs wracking her emaciated body. Quil's lost weight too, and there are always dark circles under his eyes. He hasn't said it, but if Claire dies I think he will follow. It's in his eyes, the emptiness that resonates from them.

After seeing all of this I understand what Paul was saying about imprints. It's not natural. How could fate give you something so precious only to rip it away? I hope a werewolf never imprints again because this pain is not worth it, not like this. I think Quil knows Claire is not going to make it. It's like there's an invisible timer that only he can see. He keeps every minute with her, leaving only when someone wants alone time with her. Even then he's like a caged animal, pacing the edges of the hallway until he can get back to her.

Claire becomes too weak to even pick up her arms, and she stares almost sightless at the ceiling. Her breath is labored, and they have an oxygen masks moved into the room and placed on her at all times. She doesn't look anything like the little girl I once knew.

Her fourth birthday passes. Nobody tells her because they know she can't eat all the cake she wants. She can barely drink water. She wouldn't be able to unwrap the presents either, and the only thing she would ask for is what she's been asking for months for.

To get better.

She sleeps more often than naught, and now I think she knows the truth too. Her eyes are dead, and she doesn't ask me any questions anymore. She doesn't say anything at all.

The doctors finally admit there is nothing they can do for her anymore, and we should look at keeping her as comfortable as possible in her last moments.

_There is nothing that they can do for her anymore. There is nothing that they can do for her anymore. There is nothing that they can do for her anymore. _The words repeat over and over until it's a mantra, and then I understand.

Claire is going to die.


	11. Ch 11: Where Paul Hopes Lizzy Waits

I had difficulty editing this chapter. It feels a bit jumpy and awkward to me. I tried to make it smoother and think I succeeded.

Comments

twihard104: I burst out laughing when I read your review lololol

Guest: Thanks for the review!

ThisIsHope: Aw, I'm sorry. I've been through something similar too which is why I know all those details. Kumquats do make everything better, don't they?

Ghostwriter71: Thanks! Everything is revealed in this chapter~

Maxsmomma- Thanks, I always hope I convey things the way I thought them out in my head.

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><p>Paul's POV<p>

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><p>Life has been hell.<p>

I can't think anymore. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't even hold a conversation. There's a long list of things I can no longer do.

I watch Lizzy a lot, watching her as she watches Claire. Lizzy wrings her hands often, some kind of nervous quirk is my guess, and her face is always tense. I've grown accustomed to it.

When the doctors announced that there is nothing they can do to keep Claire alive anymore it stabbed at any hope we held. We didn't know what to do, and at the same time we did.

Now I think it's best Lizzy is a ghost. Now I won't have to watch her die. Sure, I can't touch her. I can't hold her or be with her in any way possible. But she is alive. At least in her way.

We have more pack members. They feel the empty, foreboding hole in the pack. We can't bring ourselves to do anything to fix it, because that means forgetting Claire and we could never do that. When we found out Bella Swam was pregnant with some kind of parasite we could barely bring ourselves to care. Sam felt like he should, and after a talk with the blood suckers they told Sam that if the thing is violent they would put it down themselves. Sam didn't care after that, we all feel dead. Sam was happy enough to just send a few of us to sit outside the house and listen to Bella's screams as she birthed the creature, and learned that it wasn't as much of a monster as we all anticipated. We gave the leeches a threat for good measure about controlling her, and then raced back to the hospital. Patrols are minimal, and most of us work to get any penny we can for Claire. Our pack has had a melt down with one of the imprints deteriorating.

Watching Claire die is horrible. Every bone is visible in her body, and her once round, rosy cheeks that were full of life are sunken and look like death. I don't know how Quil does it. He's stronger than all of us.

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><p>Claire hasn't opened her eyes for thirty-six hours now. We're expected to go to war like this? It's our duty, we know this. But it's hard to think of anything with Claire dying inside that sterile bleech-ridden hospital. Quil actually came for the fight. His thoughts are too awry to read but I think he intends to kill himself. None of us can bring ourselves to stop him, and our mournful cries will forever echo into my mind as we run together as a pack today for the first time realizing that our brother was walking to his death. After today we will be one werewolf less.<p>

Quil isn't himself anymore. There's a glint to his eyes, one that shows he is a second from losing it. He's going crazy, literally insane. He will know as soon as she dies, because somehow he knows she will die today. The desolate voice that said it makes my tongue feel thick and my stomach sick. That wasn't Quil's voice that spoke; that was the voice of a man that has lost everything he's ever had and everything he would have been.

We all wish for blood today, just something to distract us from how shitty our lives are right now. But we weren't desperate enough to start a war that could hurt Jacob's imprint. One dead imprint is enough. So when the war only ended in words, we all turned around. Quil slumped, his stomach almost touching the ground. But even in the state he's in he knows not to endanger another imprint. It's so engrained into our minds, into our very being, that even when all is lost we do not waiver from that pillar.

Quil has shown us that.

As we mope back to the hospital, Quil suddenly yelps from where he sits in the back. It's a high, grating sound. I flinch, my shoulders hunching over because that could have meant only one thing: Claire's death. But pain doesn't overwhelm me like I expect from being in the pack mind with him. Suddenly I feel…

Hope?

Quil sits breathing hard, his face staring down at the ground in some attempt to understand what is going on. He bolts, knocking into one of the new recruits, Daniel. Daniel stares after him in surprise, we all do.

My instincts tell me to follow him so I do, rushing after him like I did my first vamp: with abandonment and without a care. I tear my clothes on when I get there and hurry into the hospital barefoot and shirtless, uncaring of what the hospital policy has to say about it. At first it takes me a moment to comprehend what I'm see in that tiny, white, four-by-four room that smelled too much of death.

Claire is sitting up. Claire is drinking. Claire is smiling.

My breath stops and my feet move to the bed on their own accord. "Claire?" That voice doesn't even sound like mine. Claire's parents are hugging each other on the other side of the bed, tears of joy racing down their faces.

"Hi Paul." Her voice is very weak, but there's something in it I haven't heard in a long time. Energy and spirit.

I drop down to my knees and stare at her, carefully rubbing one of the protruding bones in her face. Something cold is under my hand that lays on the bed and I move to see. It's odd at first, green and brittle with age. I drop it in my hand before I notice one horrible and gut wrenching thing.

It's the Quileute symbol of life.

Immediately my head shoots up to the corner of the room in a panic, but she's not there. I can no longer control my breathing, and it comes out in hysterical gasps. Claire's weak voice cuts through my fog.

"Paul, it's okay. Grandma told me that Lizzy is going to be happy, and she's going to see her family real soon."

Two things register to me as she says that:

One, that the only grandmother Claire ever knew died a little more than a year ago.

And two, Lizzy's family is dead.

Something breaks in me that moment. I don't feel the pack as they pull me out, I don't notice when my fist burn and blood drips from wounds I can't remember for the life of me how I got. I understand when I look around. Every tree in the nearest vicinity is now mulch.

"She left me," I gasp out, ripping at the strands of my hair. Most of them come out and I fling them to the ground before falling there myself.

"Paul, calm down. Claire is okay," Embry whispers, placing a comforting palm on my back.

"Lizzy," I moan out in a strangled voice. Whispers break out around me, but I can't bring myself to care enough to listen.

I was both right and wrong. She was meant to be here, but not like I thought. She was meant to save Claire, and she did. But she didn't get her life back the way I envisioned.

She's gone.

I shiver. If I had any food in my stomach I would thrown it up. The emptiness resonates through my whole entire being. Who am I supposed to talk to at night when I have my doubts? Who will give me tips on cooking when I'm messing everything up? Who is supposed to listen as I rant to them about how much I fucking _hate_ patrols? Who will I laugh with and tell stupid jokes that make no sense to? Who in their fucking right will sit with me for hours on end as I repeat every tidbit of Quileute facts I learn every day?

Who will wait for me no matter how long I take?

I hope she will wait for me.

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><p>I could totally end this story here. Because, you know, I'm evil. I should be evil, right?<p>

Btw I've already started a new story. It will be about Seth and an OC named Amara. Here's the summary.

I used to be relatively normal. At least until the "secret" happened. The secret that no one believes is true. The secret that killed my mother before my very eyes and left me metally scarred beyond my ability to cope. Now numbers are my friends. They are what will continue to get me through. So why does Seth Clearwater keep bothering me?


	12. Ch 12: Where Lizzy is Lizzy Melthrop

Here's my last chapter! I debated when to post it because I didn't want it to end, but I didn't wanna leave you on a cliffie for long!

Comments

Ghostwriter71: Oh gosh lol your reviews amuse me. :P

Love Laugh Live Your Life- Here's your ending. :)

ThisIsHope: Yessssssh. I did a good job then! Don't worry, I'm not that evil. :)

Twihard104: It's not half way through, it's far from that. There was only one chapter left, and the story easily could have ended there if I wanted to. But I'm not that mean. ;)

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><p>Lizzy's POV<p>

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><p>When the wolves left I felt like something important was going to happen. My instincts tells me it doesn't have to do with the war, which I'm worried sick for, but with the girl sitting in front of me. The doctors call her parents out to talk over some charts and I sit down in the chair her mother has occupied almost non-stop for the past few months. The first thing I register when I touch her is how cold her hand is, much too cold for something alive. But then I realize something more important: I can <em>feel<em> her.

Can I feel the dead?

Hope glimmers in me, and I reach to grip her hand as tightly as I can in hers. My hand slightly goes through her, and for a moment we have no end and no beginning.

But I'm holding it.

I gasp, staring wide eyed at the little girl sitting before me. My eyes catch the bracelet on my wrist and I freeze, remembering a conversation I had with Paul. Everything begins to click.

I wasn't meant to save Paul; I was meant to save Claire.

It makes so much sense now. Why did I only realize this at the last minute? I grip my hands firmly around her tiny, almost lifeless one and I sit there and hope. I don't know what I'm doing, but I have to figure it out. There is no other option.

When nothing happens I let go, biting the side of my cheek as I stare at her. The life symbol catches the light and I cock my head before slowly reaching over and placing the dangling symbol onto her hand. Something feels wrong at first, and I begin to panic as I realize what it is.

I can't move.

Fear sets in as I fight for movement, any type of movement. Her mother comes back from the hallway and sits down over me. I don't feel it, but something is so odd about having another person go straight through you that I usually avoid it. Slowly, my surroundings begin to take on a white sheen. My eyes dart around attempting to figure out what's happening.

But then the heart monitor speeds up.

Her heart beats faster and stronger than it has in almost two weeks. Claire's father rushes to the door to get the doctor and her mother begins to cry anew. Claire's eyes open abruptly, going straight to mine. It's then I notice I'm floating, and the white is almost so bright that I cannot see anything at all. The last thing I remember before losing consciousness is the life symbol sitting delicately upon Claire's wrist.

Relief.

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><p>I wake up to brightness. I blink, waiting for my eyes to adjust and peer around. Everything is white. I take a breath in and my lungs expand, gobbling up the fresh air. A hand reaches down towards me and I train my eyes on it before dragging them up to the face.<p>

It's the woman. The woman who gave me the bracelet.

"Hello Elizabeth."

Her voice makes me jump and I scramble back in an attempt to get away. "No, no. I'm not doing it again. Don't give me a charm I don't want it." There are tears in my voice, and panic. I can't do it again. I can't. It's too hard. I'm finally free. She can't take that from me.

But if I'm free why don't I feel free?

It's like a thread is tugging me. Where? I don't know. The woman laughs, her voice rich and thick as if caressing me. This voice is different from her other older, crackling one. "You do not have to do it again, not unless you want to."

"I don't," I say quickly.

She nods. "That is your choice."

"Did you give me that bracelet for her? Claire?"

"Yes, the universe saw a wrong and that had to be righted. I'll admit we were worried that you were a bit too… _distracted_ to do what you were meant to, but you pulled through in the end."

My cheeks burn, knowing exactly who she was talking about. "If I was meant to help Claire, then why was I able to talk to Paul?"

That secret smile tugs at her lips, the same smile that got me into this whole mess. But now, it can't be a mess. I saved Claire _and_ Quil. I righted the pack and now everything will be okay.

So why do I feel so empty?

"You were Claire's guardian angel, but something we didn't realize happened and that resulted in your ability to talk to Mr. Paul Lahote."

My eyes widen as I still sit on the floor. _I was Claire's guardian angel?_ I thought I was a ghost. "Why couldn't I do anything then?" is my rebuttle. "If I was a guardian angel I should have been able to help people."

"You did. You helped a person." At my stubborn glare, she gives me a better answer. "Angels are not allowed to engage in the human world unless it is with their charge."

"But I couldn't touch Claire..." As I say it I realize I never tried. I was so sure I wouldn't be able to that I didn't even attempt it. The woman doesn't answer me, already knowing I worked it out. I clear my throat nervously and stand up, wiping my hands on my dress. "Do I go to heaven now?"

"Do you want to?"

The initial answer that pops into my head is yes. I'm free. I can feel my palms against my hands, and the pressure my body puts on my feet. My voice is loud, and my lungs breathing air so rich I can almost taste it. But even with all this I feel so… _empty_.

"You feel it, don't you?" The knowing look to her eyes makes me angry. No one should know everything. Why bother asking me if you already know the answer. "Because it's nice to ask." My throat dries as I try to work out if I really did say that out loud. "No, you did not."

I blink, staring wordlessly at her. When I gather myself I ask in a tiny whisper, "Why me?"

"Because I could see the good in you. I knew you were meant to be an angel. We knew both of you were destined to die soon and decided to give you a test. I tested your sister too but she got the angel's wing, passage to the next life. Very few people pass the test to become a guardian angel."

Protest immediately abrupt from me. "But I'm not perfect. I've lied and I've-"

"Yes, we all know that. Do you think we look for perfection? No, because there is no such thing on Earth. What we saw in you was the goodness of your heart, and the wish to do no harm to others no matter what the price."

It can't be true. I'm just normal Elizabeth Melthrop, not some guardian angel. Sometimes I'd hog the bathroom from my sister in the morning just to mess with her, grinning as she shoved passed me and slammed the door when I got out. I'm the one who told my little brother not now, putting my needs before his. I got a D in science because I didn't listen to my parents when they told me to study. I shoved Michael Dutton when he called my best friend a whiny little bitch, and although I regretted doing it right after I would still do that moment over the same way if asked because the relief in my best friends eyes that someone was there for her was worth it all.

"That is why Guardian Angels are human. Because they understand the things that we cannot." Her arm rest on my shoulder, and this time I don't feel fear. I wrap my fingers around hers and squeeze, more for my comfort than hers.

"I wish to go back." Part of me regrets saying it, but a bigger part in me rejoices at my words. Yes, the world is different than how it was when I was alive. Yes, I'm scared to go back.

But for Paul, it's worth it.

I want to love, I want to laugh. I want to watch myself grow old and have tiny grandkids swarm me with high pitched giggles and happy faces. I want to hold Paul, the person I love, and tell him that I'm not afraid anymore and that I want to be with him. I want to tell him that I love him, because I couldn't before.

I feel alive, I feel liberated. I'm ready to finally live again. It may not be the life I imagined, but it's the life I want.

"You have made your decision?"

I smile up at her, laughing as I answer. "Yes. But you already know that, don't you?"

Her serene smile and omniscient eyes that were once so daunting now comfort me. I wrap my arms around and hug her tightly, and the white film covers my eyes and all thoughts empty from my head.

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><p>I wake up in the forest, the smell overpowering but once I get used to it is quite pleasant. I stretch and the dirt shifts beneath me, a branch digging into my side. Where am I? I shoot up and immediately feel dizzy and lay back down. When it starts to go away I try again, this time much slower and cautious. The woods look familiar, and when I turn to the left I know I'm right.<p>

Paul's house.

I stand up on my feet, wobbly at first but quickly getting the hang of it. I haven't truly walked in thirty-eight years, so it takes some getting used to. I reach his porch breathless and unsure what to do. Doubt stirs in me.

What if this isn't the same time period?

What if he doesn't remember me because of some odd Guardian Angel agreement?

But if I haven't learned to ignore what if's by now I have learned anything at all. I shove the door open, the roughness of it surprising me. The door is unlocked like always, and I run my hand against the chipping paint to feel the texture once more before turning to Paul's door. Butterflies float in my stomach and I gnaw on my cheek, a habit I haven't done since I was alive.

Actually, I just did it up in heaven.

I've been to heaven. The sentence doesn't seem to be true even to me. I wipe away my distracting thoughts and push the door open. Paul lays on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with dead eyes. It seems like he hasn't even registered the fact that the door has opened.

"Paul?" My voice stirs him and his fingers twitch. I say it once more and this time he turns to me, pain and despair written all over his face. I gasp as I take him in, noticing that he's lost even more weight than before. Our eyes meet, and it's like that final puzzle piece has fallen into place and everything is right in the world.

"Elizabeth?" He barely ever calls me that, so I know something is really wrong then. I rush over to him, hesitating, before rubbing the back of my hand against his cheek in a soft caress. He spasms as if burned, sitting up so fast he's a blur. "I. Felt. You." The words are halted, as if he doesn't quite believe them himself.

"Yes." I clasp my hands awkwardly before sitting down on the bed. "I'm alive." He works this through, his eyes pulling away from me and then back. He does it over and over again as if expecting me to disappear.

"How?"

I swallow, leaning towards him. "I was meant to save Claire. I saved her and I got the choice to either live or die. I chose to live." At least that's what happened in the simplest terms. I'm not quite willing to tell him about the guardian angel thing. I barely believe that myself.

"I'm dreaming. This is my mind attempting to bring to life my wistful fantasies." His voice is small and childlike. Paul is usually so sure of himself that his tone is worrying me right now.

But then it makes sense. Paul is passion, and when he's passionate about something he gives it his everything. I saw the looks he gave me, but I ignored them because I'm selfish and knew if I confronted him about it I would make myself leave.

But now I am alive, and everything is different. Now, I am his imprint.

Instead of using words I inch towards him like one would a frightened animal. My eyes stare into his, green to brown, before closing them to let our lips touch for the first time. He gasps in a breath against my lips, and then another before I open my eyes. He looks terrified, his body frozen as if he's not sure what to do. Instead of puzzling this out, I tell him what I've wanted to tell him for almost a year now.

"Paul, I love you."

My back hits the bed and lips brush against mine and hands run tenderly across my face and I close my eyes because it's all glorious and all I can feel is a sense of contentment.

"I love you so much Lizzy you have no clue and if this is a dream I don't want to wake up." He says this all on one breath and I carefully run my hands through his hair like I've wanted to a dozen times.

"This is real. I'm here, Elizabeth Melthrop. I'm alive and I love you too." The words thrill me and I laugh, reaching my neck forward to kiss him again. And again. And again, until I lose track and all I want to do is lay on this bed and hold him to me forever. But forever never last long, as least not in this life.

"Hey Paul, how are you doing man? I'm here to-" A strangled silence follows the words and Paul's eyes shut tight, unwilling to open them. He's terrified, clutching me to him tightly as if he's afraid I'll disappear. I wiggle until I'm able to face who's speaking and see a gob-smacked Embry at the door with his jaw practically hanging to the floor.

I giggle. "Hello! My name is Elizabeth Melthrop, but you probably know me as Lizzy."

Those words never felt better.

* * *

><p>Finished! Thanks to all my followers, reviewers, and readers who supported this story! A special thanks to ThisIsHope and "Guest" who kept reviewing and encouraged me to finish this from the very beginning! I had planned a sequel, but I decided against it and began to write something else. I might write a sequel one day since I already have mapped out what it's going to be about, but not anytime soon. I have a few stories planned in my head that I want to get out first. I hope all you romantics were happy with the ending!<p>

xoxo

wolfgirl92


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